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PKESENTEn BY 



Tales of B^wdoin 



Some Gathered Fragments and 
Fancies of Undergraduate Life 
in tHe Past and Present 



TOLD BY BOWDOIN MEN 



Collected and Published by 

JOHN CLAIR MINOT, '96 

DONALD FRANCIS SNOW, '01 



ILLUSTRATED 



AUGUSTA, MAINE 

PRESS OF KENNEBEC JOURNAL 

I9OI 






Copyright, IQOI 

BY 

John Clair Minot 
Donald Francis Snow 

KT. "3-. ^M-A.-crvS' 



TO TH^ MEMORY OF 

ELIJAH KEEEOGG^ 

A EOYAE AND REVERED SON OE BOWDOINj 

WHO 

CEEEBRATED HIS AEMA MATER IN STORY, 

HONORED HER BY A LIEE OE PRACTICAE PIETY_, 

AND WON THE HEARTS OE HER BOYS, HIS BRETHREN, 

THIS VOEUME 

IS GRATEEULLY INSCRIBED. 



PRErzrroRY note 

To those in whose hearts Bowdoin Colleg^e holds a place 
the publication of this volume requires little excuse 
or explanation. To others its existence can be but a matter 
of small concern. We give it to its readers in the confident 
hope that no Bowdoin man of any time can read its pages 
without finding much to interest him, to stir the memories 
of his own undergraduate days and to bind him closer to his 
Alma Mater. Many of the contributions are truthful remi- 
niscences; some are stories based upon actual happenings, 
and a few are woven by the shuttle-play of the imagination 
around scenes familiar and dear to us all. Some are long 
and some are short ; some serious and others in lighter vein. 
But all are tales of Bowdoin, with something of the college 
color and something of the college atmosphere which can 
only be fully appreciated by those who have known those 
halls and campus paths and who have heard the whispering 
of the pines. 

It is not to be claimed that this book is complete or 
exhaustive. Many and many a theme of great possibilities 
is not touched upon in its pages and many a Bowdoin story- 
teller is as worthy a place in such a work as are any of the 
thirty whose contributions herein appear. It may be that 
this volume is but a beginning, and that other collections of 
Bowdoin tales will be published, finding a place in the 
library of every Bowdoin man and giving pride and pleasure 
to every Bowdoin heart. 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

The collection cf these stories and sketches and their 
publication have been to us a source of much enjoyment. 
Encouragement has met us on every hand and the most 
sympathetic assistance uniformly has been given us. We 
take this oppgrtunity to express our deep appreciation of the 
generous interest taken in the work by those whose con- 
tributions to its pages have made the volume what it is. 
Only their loyal cooperation made its appearance possible. 
And we wish to express our gratitude to the great body of 
alumni and undergraduates and the many friends whose 
cordial support made the undertaking a success. We wish 
particularly to acknowledge our obligation to Roy Leon 
Marston, '99, who drew the cover design which adds so 
materially to the attractiveness of the volume. 

John Clair Minot, '96, 

Augusta, MIe. 

DoNAivD Francis Snow, '01, 

Bangor, Me. 
June I, 1901. 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

Chums at Bowpoin i 

Edward A. Rand, '57 

The Borrowing of Pres. Cheney's Bust 19 

A Phi Chi of '67 

A Tale of Two Freshmen 29 

Henry Smith Chapman, '91 
St. Simeon Stylites 55 

Kenneth C. M. Sills, '01 
When the Self-Sender Walked Home 67 

C. A. Stephens, '69 
Told Again , 81 

Arlo Bates, '76 
The Hazing of Stumpy Blair 95 

Fred Raymond Marsh, '99 
The May Training loi 

Thamas B. Reed, '60 
Lost: Love's Labor iii 

Webb Donnell, '85 
In the President's Room 127 

Henry S. Webster, '67 
The Story of a Bowdoin Story-Teller 139 

Wilmot B. Mitchell, '90 
The Education of Jacob Shaw 163 

Franklin C. Robinson, '72 
A Smoke Talk in No. 7 189 

Clarence B. Burleigh, '87 
How Triangle Won 207 

Thomas LittleHeld Marble, '98 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

PAGE 
At the Altar of Tradition 217 

George Brinton Chandler, 'go 
Indian Pudding 229 

John Alexander Pierce, '01 
A History and the Reasons for it 237 

Edtvard C. Plunimer, ■'87 
The Old Delta 249 

Albert V/. Tolnian, '88 
Bowdoin Under Fire 261 

Charles A. Curtis, '61 
An Inquisition of 1835 275 

James Plaisted Webber, ■'00 
Random Recollections of 1871-5 281 

Christopher H. Wells, '75 
John Ferris, Graduate 297 

Edgar O. Achorn, '81 
Diogenes 307 

Henry L. Chapman, "66 
The Rival Fullbacks 317 

Henry A. Wing, '80 
Bowdoin's First Great Boat- Race 331 

D. A. Robinson, 'ys 
A College Girl^s Belated Ideal 347 

Frank Warren Hawthorne, '74 
One Night in June 369 

John Clair Minot, '96 



ILLUSTRATIONS 



PAGE 

The Central Path Frontispiece. 

Phi Chi, '73 20 

The Campus on a Winter Morning 38 

Memorial Hall 57 

The Summer Foliage 9^ 

The Great American Traveler 128 

Elijah Kellogg I57 

The Searles Science Building 171 

The Interior of the Chapel 198 

In the Fall of 1888 221 

The Old Delta 252 

Massachusetts Hall 277 

The Abode of Diogenes. 3^9 

An End Play on the Whittier Field 320 

A Class Race on the Androscoggin 337 

The Walker Art Building 372 



INTRODUCnON 

BOWDOIN College has been preeminent, not as a writer 
of books ; not even as a trainer of scholars ; but as the 
mother and maker of men : men of personality and power 
and public leadership. The secret of this marvellous pro- 
ductivity is not to be discovered in laboratory or library ; it 
is not printed in the Catalogue, or published in the Presi- 
dent's Report ; it was never formulated in a faculty vote, or 
betrayed to the listener by the whispering pines. The story 
of student life must tell it if it is ever told at all. The 
college, therefore, welcomes the present volume as a revela- 
tion of the spirit which here has been at work to make her 
sons the men they have become. That spirit is the spirit 
of freedom. 

We have had two distinct theories of college life: one 
that of Presidents McKeen, Appleton, Allen and Harris, 
and the great Professors Packard, Smyth, Newman, Cleave- 
land and Upham, which treated students as boys under 
parental discipline. This theory was never an entire suc- 
cess, according to the standards and expectations of its 
advocates. The seven other devils, worse than the first, 
were always forthcoming to occupy the chambers which 
were swept and garnished by "the Executive Government." 

Yet, these founders of our academic tradition builded bet- 
ter than they knew: for in the grotesque aspect of police- 
men, patrolling the campus by day and chasing miscreants 
by night ; and in the more dubious role of detectives scent- 



TAI,ES OF BOWDOIN 

ing out deviltry in Sodom and Gomorrah, as the ends of 
Winthrop Hall used to be called; sifting the evidence in 
solemn conclave at Parker Cleaveland's study; and meting 
out formal admonitions and protracted rustications to the 
culprits; these grave professors were lending to mischief 
just that dash of danger which served to keep the love of it 
alive. 

President Woods, whose administration was contempo- 
raneous with the latter stages of this boisterous boyhood of 
the college, was wise enough to appreciate the worth of this 
then deprecated side of student life. In his mild and charit- 
able eyes, robbed hen-roosts, translated live stock, greased 
blackboards and tormented tutors, were indeed things to be 
perfunctorily deplored ; but they were not deemed speci- 
mens of total depravity, or cases of unpardonable sin : nor 
was he as insistent upon meting out a just recompense of 
reward to the culprits, as his more strenuous colleagues 
thought he ought to be. This mingling of austerity on the 
part of the faculty which made mischief of this sort worth 
doing, with extreme leniency on the part of the President, 
which insured immunity from serious penalty, made the 
college from 1839 to 1866 probably the best place there ever 
was in the world for boys to be boys, and to indulge that 
crude and lawless self assertion which was the only avail- 
able approach which the colleges of that day afforded to 
manly courage and ordered independence. With such a 
stimulus, what wonder that here were reared Hawthorne, 
Longfellow, Abbott, Pierce, Cheaver, Stowe, Prentiss, Ham- 
lin, Bartol, Smith, Hale, Evans, Andrew, Abbott, Frye, 
Fuller, Howard, Chamberlain, Smyth, Webb. Reed, Hub- 
bard and Putnam. Elijah Kellogg was the consummate 
flower of such a regime ; and "Phi Chi" gives it appropriate 
immortality in song. 



INTRODUCTION 

In later years, the improved laboratory facilities and 
increasing use of the library ; the introduction of the elec- 
tive system, and the advent of athletics; have given the 
students a free life of their own. Hence the sphere of arti- 
ficial freedom which they formerly carved out for them- 
selves, and which all save the genial Woods so deeply 
deplored, is no longer an educational and spiritual necessity 
to them. The students to-day are as free as they ever were ; 
but it is a freedom in the life of the college, rather than 
against it. Resistance is as necessary to the development 
of character, as friction to the motion of a railway train; 

but the student now finds his resistance in the generous 

» 

rivalry of fraternities; in the difficulties of self-chosen and 
congenial studies ; and the prowess of athletic teams from 
other institutions. 

Faculty and students now sing "Phi Chi" together, with a 
common reverence for the boyhood of the college, and a 
common consciousness that, for the most part, childish 
things are put away. To be sure, the faculty still occasion- 
ally is obliged to appeal from Philip drunk to Philip sober ; 
from passing student caprice to the permanent student aims 
and ideals. Yet, even in the rare cases where serious dis- 
cipline is necessary, the student's class-mates or fraternity 
friends are consulted ; and almost invariably their honest 
judgment either modifies the faculty action, or else acqui- 
esces in the faculty decision. Students have become more 
mature and manly as a greater sphere of freedom has been 
placed within their reach; and the professors, instead of 
exercising lordship over their private affairs, are rather, as 
St. Paul says, '"helpers of their joy." 

These stories happily bnid together the old Hfe and the 
new by the common bonds of youthful enthusiasm, hearty 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

good fellowship, and true academic freedom, running 
through them all. 

As the graduates of former years here refresh their mem- 
ory of what the college did for them, I am sure they will 
offer anew the tribute of Henley's "Matri Dilectissimae :" 

"The stars shine as of old. The unchanging Eiver, 
Bent on his errand of immortal law, 
Works his appointed "way 
To the immemorial sea. 

And the brave truth comes overwhelmingly home :— 
That she in us yet works and shines, 
Lives and fulfils herself, 
Unending as the river and the stars. 

"Dearest, live on 
* In such an immortality 

As we, thy sons. 
Born of thy body and nursed 
At those wild, faithfvil breasts. 
Can give— of generous thoughts. 
And honorable words, and deeds 
That make men half in love with fate ! 
Live on, O brave and true, 
In us, thy children." 



.^?^^^'%^^-^i_y 



TALES or BOWDOIN 



CHUMS AT^BOWDOIN 

Edward A. Rand, '57 



CHUMS AT BOWDOIN 



Chapte;r I. — In Coi.i.ii;ge; 

WHAT a marvel was that night! It was a February 
evening when Goodwin Smith, at the close of a win- 
ter's school, reached the college yard again. The snow was 
deep. One dead mass of white was before him. Down 
upon it, the moon that seemed to be more than at the full, 
poured a flood of silver. A "dead mass," did I say? 
Where the moonlight fell, it kindled death into life. Upon 
that silvery whiteness, all the trees had left the impress of 
their forms as if in a wonderful rivalry of effort to get the 
most distinct shadow possible. Not a twig but left its black 
print upon the snow. Not a breath of wind stirred the 
trees to confuse the fine tracery of these shadows. Over- 
head, the stars had swung out their torches for their cus- 
tom.ary procession, though not so vivid as on moonless 
nights. 

"There is Orion !" said Goodwin. Yes, the hunter was 
out with his dogs, while timid Lepus was trying to shrink 
away in the vivid moonlight. One almost expected to hear 
a blast from the hunter's horn, and would Sirius bark in 
faithful response, and Procyon bay in the distance? "There 
is Regulus !" said Goodwin. This brilliant gem that for 
centuries had been upon the handle of Leo's silver sickle, 
was still faithfully ornamenting it. Not far away, the white 
bees that Pliny watched, were clustered in Praesepe, 
refusing to let go their ancient hold upon the ancient hive. 

A I 



TAI,5;S OF BOWDOIN 

Below this wonderful beauty, rose out of the snow in 
prosaic stififness the old college buildings, Massachusetts 
Hall, Winthrop Hall, Maine Hall, Appleton Hall, so many 
in their very name declaring that they were of a beloved 
Massachusetts origin and so closely akin to Harvard. In 
form, they were sugar-boxes, but whether their contents 
were saccharine, time alone could show. 

}jox succeeded box, structures that were monotonous 
masses of length, breadth and height, but what a breaking 
of the stiff, prosy line there was in the upward climbing 
roof, the upspringing, soaring towers of the new King 
Chapel, that noble expression of Christian aspiration, that 
strong symbol of a faith that has foundations. 

"I must go there and stand on the Chapel steos !" thought 
Goodwin. 

The slender, beshawled figure tugged along a big, old- 
fashioned carpet bag that would bump against his slender 
legs. He puffed by the motionless black shadows on the 
white snow, each seeming to say, "Look this way !" No, 
he wanted to see something else. He stood on the Chapel 
steps and looked up. 

Orion Avas still out in the silent, silver chase. Leo curved 
his gemmed sickle, and around the hive in Cancer clustered 
the white-winged bees. Between those starrv heights and 
the snow, was the flow of glorious moonlight. The soul 
of the student was thrilled. He shivered in the cold but 
he could not leave the spot. He did not forget that behind 
him was the Chapel of granite. He had never seen such 
a structure before his student life at Bowdoin. He had 
lately read Ruskin's ''Seven Lamps of Architecture," and 
was never tired of an attempt to interpret the symbolism 
of this Chapel of stone, whose towers pierced the infinite 
blue and whose foundations went down to the Immutable. 

2 



CHUMS AT BOWDOIlSr 

Some of the windows were pieces of brilliant shading. He 
had been accustomed to the small squares of colorless glass 
m the old New England meeting houses, and their only duty 
was to stand as receivers and let the glare of the sunshine 
through. These panes of rich staining, to his sensi- 
tive imagination, not only received but flamed into scrolls of 
fiery prophecy, or poetry, and they always had a message. 
While not remarkable as pieces of art-work, they marked 
him. His friend Paiseley Gore, the Sophomore, found him 
one day in the college library facing a window of warm, 
rich color, and he was saying over a bit of Keats' "Eve of 
St. Agnes :'' 

"And diainonded with panes of quaint device, 

Innumerable of staius and splendid dyes, 

As on the tiger-motli's deep damasked wings." 

"You little booby!" said Paiseley the practical. "They 
won't bring you bread." 

Goodwin tried to say these lines that night out on the 
Chapel steps, his teeth chattering away, but the "t-t-tiger- 
moths" tripped him up. 

Some one passed him, and a second student came up to 
the first and called out, "vSay, Tom, have you seen Goodwin 
Smith? He expected to arrive about this time and I have 
been hunting him up, this hour." 

The big carpet bag on the Chapel steps stirred quickly 
and the Freshman followed it. "Here I am, Paiseley !" 

"There, there! So you be! Goody^ how are ye?" 

The next moment, Goodwin felt gratefully the folds of 
an immense shawl going about him. In those days, shawls 
were included in men's furnishing goods. Every student 
wore a shawl, generally of a light blue or grav shade. The 
effect was peculiar when they flocked after prayers out of 
the Chapel, their shawls fluttering in the wind. Had the 

3 



TAI,15S 01? BOWDOIN 

shawls been red, it would have seemed as if a lot of flam- 
ingoes with flapping wings had been let loose into the college 
yard. If Paiseley's shawl had been red that night, it could 
not have been warmer. 

"Let me take that bag ! There ! Let me have it — mind ! 
I'm so glad to see you !" Big Paiseley gave him a bear 
hug. "I've been out twenty times looking for you." 

"I — am ever so glad to see you. I — just wanted to get 
the eftect on those steps — effect of the moonlight — " 

"Oh, fiddlesticks ! Sentiment ! You'll die of it. It will 
freeze you. Now you come to my room." 

They 'sat awhile before the open fire in one of those 
hospitable Franklin stoves of a previous generation. 

"I'll just thaw you out first, young man. I got your 
letters all right. You liked your school.'' 

"Oh, yes." 

"And the place where you boarded?" 

"The Fellows', Deacon John Fellows? Oh, yes. They 
were very kind to me, as to you when there last winter." 

Paiseley wanted to ask about the deacon's daughter, 
Mattie. His heart — this was the heart of Paiseley, not the 
deacon — was a heart that was a locket carrying the image 
of the deacon's daughter, a beautiful girl. He never had 
confessed it to Goodwin. It was a locket that never had 
seen the daylight. He did want to say one word about 
the girl. 

He hesitated. He began. He stammered as if in the 
cold he also stood on the Chapel steps. "Did M — M — Mat- 
tie — " He stopped. 

He began again and as he began, a warm, guilty blush 
overspread his features. 

"Did M — Mattie go to — to— school ?" 

4 



CHUMS AT BOWDOIN 

His ears were also burning. The locket was now open 
before the returned schoolmaster and Paiseley knew it. 

"Oh, yes !" said Goodwin, and he too stammered. "And 
she was a g-g-good scholar. I — I had a kind of f-fancy 
she might like — ker — you !" 

Goodwin was now blushing. The two guilty men lifted 
their eyes and for a moment faced one another. 

"What a botch I've made of it!" thought Goodwin. 
"Paiseley loves that girl. How red he is!" 

"He is dead in love with that girl," thought Paiseley, 
eying the Freshman's heat. "Well, I won't interfere." 

Paiseley was glad to rise, glad to drop the whole tribe 
of "Fellerses," as people in that town called them, and he 
said to Goodwin, "Now we will have a change. First, I'll 
lock up." 

He went to the door and carefully sprung the lock. Then 
he drew a big screen before the door. Thin indeed was 
the screen, but it looked thick as the Chinese wall sketched, 
upon it, and the world seemed far away as the twentieth 
century from Old Cathay. He went to the windows, and let 
the heavy folds of the red curtains cover the old-fashioned 
panes. He went to the wood-closet. Ah, what old time 
treasures were in it ! 

"Goodwin," called out Paiseley, "I have a splendid bed 
of red oak coals already there, and now will you have some 
rock maple — sound to the core and heavy — or birch covered 
with Californy gold?" 

"It's a cold night. Bring out both kinds." 

"There," said Paiseley, "I like to see it burn." 

"Yes, the rock maple has white wings of flame and the 
yellow birch wings of old gold, say a little tawny.'" 

"Sentiment!" 

5 



TAL^S OF BOWDOIN 

"And it talks, an open wood fire does. The maple purrs 
softly like a cat, and the red oak sobs and weeps like Niobe." 

"Sentiment agin! You mean 'tis wet and it sizzles. 
Now we'll have something practical. Have vou been to 
supper ?" 

"N-no. I've got some c-c-crackers." Goodwin was one 
who sometimes for economy's sake "boarded himself." A 
cracker looked more cheerful than a landlady's bill, or a 
club demand. 

"Young man, if you say crackers again, I'll crack you. 
See here ! A little legerdemain ! What will you have, 
chicken for two ? That means two chickens. Presto !" 

He lifted a table cloth from a tin kitchen before the fire. 

"There, I got my landlady, to fix these for me, tender 
and sweet, you know, and I've been trying to keep them 
warm — just roasted — and I thought you never would 
come — " 

"Paiseley, the Magnificent, but — Paiseley, ! Did you 
abstract these from a Bunganock roost?" 

"No, sir ! We call that stealing at home, and it ought to 
be called stealing in college. I believe in one code of obli- 
gations for home and college, one code for man and woman, 
one code for Sophomores and Freshmen, a.A so we will 
waive all class distinctions and eat together. And another 
thing, young man, I want you to stay in Gomorrah to-night 
and be my guest." 

"Oh, I must go to my room. You know my fire is built, 
as you kindly said 3'-ou would build it." 

"I — I — know I did, and I went round to Sodom and 
looked into your room and it did look so cold — " 
■ He might have added "so poor and bare and homesick." 
Goodwin was poor, and he had not reached the level of 
Montaigne's philosophy so as to appreciate any advantage 

6 



CHUMS AT BOWDOIN 

from indigence. Life with him was Huxley's "struggle for 
existence." It was evident in the scant furnishings of that 
room. Jn comparison, how full of luxurious comfort was 
Paiseley's room in the other end of the collep-e, Gomorrah. 
Paiseley was the son of a wealthy farmer and his furniture 
had cost enough to equip half a dozen rooms like Good- 
win's. Besides this, P'reshman housekeeping is an experi- 
ment. It never can ecjual the ease and comfort of the 
Sophomore's furnishings that show a stage of completeness 
always accompanying prolonged good housekeeping. 

But Paiseley was speaking again and in reply to Good- 
win's plea that he had no Livy with him and must go to 
his room to study that classic and the time of recitation 
would be that barbarism, the hour before breakfast. 

"See here, young man ! Thoughtful as ever, I brought 
your Livy over here. So you can get your lesson here. 
Then in the morning, an agreeable surprise will be furnished 
Uncle Tommy. '^•' There will be a recitation from his prom- 
ising pupil, Goodwm Smith — " 

"Nonsense!" 

"No interrupting rem.aiks, young man ! All out of place 
here! Let me smother that tongue with more chicken. 
There ! Now you keep quiet and be comfortable. You 
will have a good night's rest and be up in time for prayers 
before recitation. Old Dif will wake us." 

"You have him now?" 

"Yes, or he has me. He came in, this morning. He 
built my fire and bowed his stovepipe hat to it as if wor- 
shiping some Persian divinity. I was awake and saw him. 
Thinking I was asleep, he came to wake me up, and tapped 



*The beloved Prof. Thos. C. Upham. 

t Diogenes, the nick-name of Curtis, the gray haired hermit who served 
the students. 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

on my bedpost with a bunch of keys and g^ot off a lot of 
doggerel about a command from Neptune and his mermaids 
to wake me up. I yawned and said I would throw my boots 
at his stovepipe if he did not leave, which he did. Now see 
how well everything will turn out if you stay here." 

It was so good to be taken care of, to be warm, to have 
a hearty supper, to go to rest in so luxurious a bed as 
Paiseley's. Goodwin could see in the snug bedroom where 
the oak coals hung over the furniture the drapery of their 
warm, crimson glow. He heard the wind mildly purr and 
mew like a cat anxious to get in, and the noise drowsily 
diverte-d him and coaxed him down, down, down Slumber's 
stairs into the chambers of forgetfulness. After a while, 
the crimson drapery vanished from the furniture. The hot 
coals sobered to ashes and went out. 

In the yard, though, the light went on. The white moon 
showered its sparkling pearls on the white snow. Orion 
kept up the chase after Lepus all the while, and Praesepe's 
bees hung poised and motionless on their white wings. The 
winter night was so glorious in the old college yard. It 
was such a silent glory unless interrupted bv the vigorous 
singing " 'Tis the way we have at Old Bowdoin" by a party 
of Sophomores from a secret society meeting, or the lacka- 
daisical music of "Annie Laurie" from an old time Senior 
just going into society and at an early hour strolling home 
alone from a church sociable. 



Chapter II. — Out ot College. 

The cloud burst at last. As a threat it had been lying 
upon the horizon of American life for long years. It might 
be only a threat but it was not a thin mist today, to be blown 
away tomorrow ; it lived on. It was not always of the same 

8 



CHUMS AT BOWDOIN 

size. It might alarmingly tower one year and then would 
subside, but it disappeared never. "The irrepressible con- 
flict" was coming nearer. In i860, the cloud mounted the 
sky again, black with threat. "War between the North and 
the South is coming," said the watcher of the heavens. 
The cloud darkened all the sky at last, and the red bolts 
of war tore down through its folds and struck in every 
direction. Few were the homes North and South that in 
some way did not feel the jar of the temnest. In many 
households it was more than a jar. It was a shattering of 
the family life. Bowdoin's sons with heroic manliness went 
to stand by the colors of Union and Freedom, imperiled in 
the fight. How little did some I used to see in the old happy 
college paths, imagine that there would ever be opened a 
path to a Memorial Hall and their consecration would be 
inscribed on any bronze tablets there! 

Among my classmates, did Edward Thurston Chapman 
in the quiet of his honorable student-seclusion hear the 
thud of that distant gunboat explosion on the James River, 
fatal as if sullen Stromboli had suddenly lifted its ashy 
furnace-door? Could John Barrett Hubbard, so manly and 
undaunted, have possibly caught the flash of those roaring 
guns at Port Hudson before which his consecration and 
courage would be swept away like the harvest straw before 
the October gust? And there was "Bob" Spearing from 
New Orleans. Doubtless he followed his conscience and 
he stood in the strife on the side of the South. When he 
saw the sun of college winter days crimson the morning 
snow, did he once think that his young blood would redden 
the snov/s of Fredericksburg? I turn the page here and 
close the chapter of personal reminiscence. 

It was the summer of 1863. Gettysburg was not far 
away, but nobody saw the tragedy. Least of all, did the 

9 



TAI^IvS OF BOWDOTN 

anticipation of it come to the farmers who looked com- 
placently at the corn fields of that town that would soon be 
torn by War's reckless plow driven in every direction. Peo- 
ple only knew there were movements of armies but those 
that listened in Pennsylvania caught not as yet the sound of 
a hostile footfall. 

It was that summer of 1863 that an officer in our army 
was going along a street of one of our large cities. It 
was a chilling morning and his rank was concealed by his 
army cape. He was not a person of graceful carriage, but 
he had a stout, sturdy build and a resolute air that com- 
manded respect. This was apart from his uniform that 
always compels attention. 

"What's the matter?" he said when he had passed a big 
brick building labeled "hospital." There was a group at 
a corner, looking down upon an object on the sidewalk. 

"Oh, what's the matter with the man?" asked the 
officer. 

"He's drunk," said a burly fellow whose red face sug- 
gested that he ought to know from experience. 

The officer pushed aside the crowd, bowed and exclaimed, 
"Heavens, this is Goody ! why, you poor fellow !" 

He lifted the head tenderly as if a mother had found a 
child, and then folding him close to his breast, stroked 
gently the white forehead and brushed aside the tresses of 
black hair from a face of classic beauty. 

"He's diamk," said a shabby but wiry fellow. "Plim and 
me," and he nodded tov/ard the burly man, "him and me 
are going to take him to the station. It is the thing to do 
for him." 

"No, you don't!" growled the officer. "Drunk! He 
abhorred liquor in college. He never touched it, and he 

10 



CHUMS AT BOWDOIN 

hasn't touched it since. I know all about him. This is a 
fever-stroke, overwork or something-." 

"What are you goin' to do 'bout it ?" said the burly man. 
"Leave him be!" 

"You touch him, if you dare," said the officer. 

He looked around. 

"I wish I had a squad of soldiers here." 

"You needn't think because you are an hosafer, you can 
boss us. Leave him be, I say." 

The burly man held a dirty fist insultingly near the offi- 
cer's face. 

"Is there somebody here — " He looked around again. 

"I'm not a soldier, only a woman, but I b'lieve in standin' 
by the flag. I'll help ye." 

It was a woman. Her air was that of patriotism going 
to the battle-front, as if she would say, "Which one of these 
shall I take?" 

"You just hold on to hiui," he replied, relinquishing his 
burden to the woman. 

"Poor feller !" she murmured. "I know ye. Who'd-er 
thought it ? There, there, keep still !" 

She tenderly hushed the sick man, who had begun to 
moan. "I'll be a mother to ye ! There, there ! Hush-sh-sh I 
Make b'lieve ye're down in dear old Maine among friends." 

The two men had laid hands upon the officer. He was 
getting ready for a grapple that would tax his powers. 
The sight of Goodwin Smith had awakened out of sleep 
old college memories. He saw the ropes and the rings 
suspended in the primitive gymnasium amid the old mur- 
muring pines where he could outswing and outjump every 
other student. He thought of the "hold ins" when in the 
Sophomore arch he had tossed back every heavy Freshman 

II 



TAL^S OF BOWDOIN 

that had dared assault it. The thrill of the old muscular 
excitement swept through him. He laid aside his cape. 

"You needn't think you can draft us for the war !" said 
one of the objectors. 

"The war has no place for imps like you !" said the offi- 
cer, and gripping each brute by the collar he led them both 
to the curbstone, and flung them as if carrion out into the 
street. They could only mutter and stare at him in aston- 
ishment. Then he went back, took up Goodwin Smith and 
beckoning to the woman, went toward the hospital steps. 

"You belong in here?" he said to the woman, noticing 
sonie peculiarity of dress. 

She nodded her head. 

Together, they went up the steps. 

"You don't know me," she said. "You came from Bruns- 
wick and taught school at Crawford Centre down in Maine, 
and Goodwin Smith taught after you, and you boarded at 
Deacon Fellerses'. You forgotten Mattie?" 

Forgotten! Her face had been glowing like a sweet 
evening ?tar among his remembrances, but evening stars 
are not accessible. He had never married, but he had hoped 
that Goodwin and Aiattie would be sensible enough to take 
that step. Out of the seed of separation, marriages do not 
grow. The two had cherished an interest in each other at 
one time, but they had not met for years, and no one could 
say whether under memory's gray ashes there might be any 
spark of mutual interest alive. 

Paiseley Gore did not tell the woman whether he remem- 
bered or had forgotten Mattie, but as they entered the super- 
intendent's office, he said, "See here ! You are not 'Ann' ? 
Bless me !" 

The calling of her name pleased her. 

"I am Ann Stevens, the hired woman at the Fellerses' !" 

13 



CHUMS AT BOWDOIN 

But the superintendent was waitinp^ for a communication 
from Capt. Paiseley Gore, having- rung a bell for "'bearers" 
as soon as he had caught sight of the officer and the man in 
his arms. 

Capt. Gore bowed. "This man, sir, I want you to look 
after. He's one of God's great princes, an old collcp-e chum. 
Take the best care of him and I'll foot the bill." 

"Oh, that will be all right." 

"But I want extra care of him. He has been using him- 
self up, studying for the m.inistry, working in the slums, 
teaching to pay his way — an old trick of a college student — 
and he has broken down. I happened to be on a furlough 
and was g'oing through the city and found him. My fur- 
lough is up tomorrow and I must get back to my regiment. 
You see Lee's army has broken loose and I must get to our 
army, but I will write you. H anything should happen to 
me — I have remembered him in my will. Don't forget that 
he is one of God's great heroes though a little fellow. I 
knew him in college, and a fellow that knows another fellow 
in college, feels tender — " 

"I won't forget," said the superintendent, smiling. "I've 
been there." 

"You see, he wanted to be a soldier and he couldn't pass 
the examination, but really he is a great man. God, when 
He measures big souls, doesn't go by feet and inches." 

"You're right," said the superintendent. 

A few minutes later, Ann Stevens was alone in her room. 
She went to the looking glass, a way she had when she 
wanted to tell a secret and leave it in a safe place. "Now, 
Ann !" she gxclaimed, contemplating a rather homely but 
very sensible face, homeliness and good sense often being 
wedded in this life. She called again, "See here!" The 
Ann in the looking glass nodded to the Ann before it, as if 

13 



TAI^I^S OP BOWDOIN 

to say, "Go ahead. You can trust me." "I want to tell 
you what is goin' on. The superintendent says I may git 
the nuss for the patient. Who's a better one than the 
gal in Maine I worked for and that I have followed to this 
place because she wanted to do some good for her country, 
hoping they would put soldiers here ? That's all ! Don't 
tell ! We'll see how it comes out." 

In a little while there was a woman standing over a 
patient's bed in a quiet room, a woman in the garb of a 
nurse. She bent lov/ her sweet face, out of which shone the 
hope and courage of youth. 

"Ann says I knoAv him," murmured Mattie, and then her 
eyes grew bigger and bigger, as if some fuller wave of light, 
of discovery, of resolution, were sweeping into her soul. 
She said nothing. She made no outcry, though here was 
one who as the teacher of the little village school, had made 
a change in her life. He had left an emptiness in her soul, 
a hunger that had never yet been satisfied. So hungry, and 
he was in this very room ! He was the patient that she, as 
the hospital nurse, m.ust tend ! Hark, he was saying some- 
thing! "I hear the old pines talking." He opened wide 
his eyes. "They're talking. Once at Brunswick, when I 
went into the old cemetery back of the college, I thought I 
caught the sound, the roar of the sea. It was all around 
me. No, it was only the wind talking up in the tops of the 
pines. lyovely 1" 

"Yes, yes, it's lovely," said the nurse. "Now I will try to 
make a noise like that and you go to sleep. I want you to 
be very quiet." 

He smiled and closed his eyes. That wandering mind, 
though, was not at rest yet. 

He spoke again: "Say, are you my sister?" 

14 



CHUMS AT BOWDOIN 

"I must humor him," she said, and repHed, "Yes, yes! 
Now I want you to go to sleep." 

"Are you my wife?" 

"He will forget this. He's out of his head," she thought, 
and replied, "Yes, I am your wife. Now go to sleep and I 
will make the wind in the pines." 

That always hushed him, the thought of the sound that 
seemed to come up from the stretching shores of Harpswell 
Neck and old Bunganock, and breathing its music across 
miles of sandy plain and reaching" the big stretches of pine- 
growth back of the colleges, started up all the harpers and 
players on organs in the treetops! What a soft, luxurious 
dream of melody in gentle June days, and in the winter 
storm what vigor, as if Neptune's band had just come to 
town and were playing back of the colleges ! 

One day, a convalescent was sitting on a balcony and the 
sweet-faced nurse v»?as beside him. 

He asked, "Have you heard from Paiseley Gore yet?" 

"He — I'll tell you the news some time. He went to his 
regiment, you know. It was Gettysburg." 

"You need not tell me. He is very near me. He came 
to me in a dream and a beautiful smile was upon his face, 
and I said, 'Paiseley, what a look of life you have, so 
bright.' 'Yes,' he said, 'they could not hurt me.' It's a 
beautiful thought that death is not less but more life, and 
that this fuller life is about us, God caring for us in the 
old tender way, but caring for us too through those — you 
know what I mean — I was thinking of Paiseley." 

His head drooped and his lips quivered. 

"I wouldn't say anything more now, for you're weak. 
You have many dreams, don't you? You had one about 
the wind in the pines, and — " 

IS 



tai,e:s of bowdoin 

"Yes, and one day I — I must tell it — I dreamed you said 
you were my wife." 

Her's was the drooping head now. 

"You said it?" 

"Yes— but— " 

"Are you weak and so you can't think of it ? You won't 
take it back?" 

"N-no." 



THE BORROWING OF 

PRESIDENT CHENEY^S BUST 

A Phi Chi op 'G-] 



THE BORROWING OF PRESIDENT CHENEY'S BUST 

AT the time I entered Bowdoin, near the middle of the 
6o's, the leading Greek-letter society there was, in 
some respects, the Phi Chi. This society, let me say for the 
reader who may not be familiar with college organizations 
and nom.enclature, should not be confounded with the Phi 
Beta Kappa, for notwithstanding the similarity in their 
names, the two societies had some points of difference. In 
general the Phi Beta Kappas affected scholarship, or book 
learning, while the Phi Chis were the more aggressive, 
and inclined to achievements that required and developed 
greater originality, self-reliance and executive ability. It 
justified, too, its right to a Ureek name rather more, it seems 
to me, than any other of the Greek-letter societies then at 
Bowdoin ; for besides having its headquarters in the attic* 
of Winthrop Plall, its members strenuously endeavored to 
live up to some of the practices of the ancient Spartans, if 
history tells the truth about them, acceding with those 
notable exemplars to the dogma that there are things not 
approved, perhaps, by theorists, which it is nevertheless 
justifiable to do, provided one doesn't get caught. I am not 
defending the doctrine, but merely recording the fact. 

* A friend of mine who is a profound Greek scholar from having devoted 
his whole life to the study of that language, informs me that the word 
attic is derived from Attica, and so means pei'taining to Attica or Athens. 
He has written a lengthy monograph on this matter, which he intends to 
give to the public as soon as he can find a publisher who will publish it at 
his own risk. My friend expects to got a Ph. D. for this. 

19 



TAIvES OF' BOWDOIN 

Stated accurateh', Phi Chi life was a year of experimenta- 
tion with certain ethical theories ; a year devoted to testing 
and learning morals by the laboratory method as it were. 

I had better perhaps say here for the information of 
"yaggers," "oudens," and older graduates, that Phi Chi was 
a Sophomore society founded by the illustrious class of '66, 
which, to use the metaphorical language of a eulogist of the 
day, "placed its standard from the very beginning high up 
on a lofty eminence," (see unpublished speeches of Wilson 
of '6y) ; which being interpreted, means that its founders 
started the society off at a rattling pace. But it can be 
truthfully stated, I think, that the standard was not lowered, 
or the pace was not slackened, whichever, metaphor is pre- 
ferred, by '6^, into whose keeping it of course passed next. 

Yet the pranks performed by the Phi Chis of 'Gy were 
with one exception, for which a few hot heads were to 
blame, reasonably innocent. One of them, for example, was 
what I have called "the borrowing of President Cheney's 
bust." 

It was well known to several members of the class of '67 
that President Cheney of the then nascent college at Lewis- 
ton, had a fine bust of himself, a present, it was said, from 
one of his classes. That he should have a strong affection 
for the bust, therefore, seemed reasonable and right, but 
it was reported that he idolized it. Now if Phi Chi ever 
believed that she saw the index finger of duty unmistakably 
pointing out the way, it would be when an opportunity was 
presented to remove from the land a cause for idolatry. 
But there were other motives that prompted to the deed I 
have undertaken to narrate, and one was the feeling that 
the bust of an eminent and intellectual man of high char- 
acter, with its continual inspiration to noble thoughts and 
honorable deeds, would be a desirable ornament for the 

20 



the; borrowing of pre;sident Cheney's bust 

headquarters of the society. These quarters were not with- 
out souvenirs, but they had nothinj^ in the bust line, and 
fed by the knowledge that this lack could be remedied, the 
desire to remedy it grew steadily till at length three mem- 
bers of the society, Vx'ho may be designated as Alpha the Sly, 
Beta, his lieutenant, and Gamma, an assistant, volunteered 
to form a party to procure the coveted prize. 

The expedition set out from Brunswick in a carriage at 
early candle-light. The night was dark and cloudy, and 
later it began to rain, dampening everything but the ardor 
of the adventurers. Lewiston was reached about the "wee 
short hour ayont the twal," and the youthful Bates College 
was found fast askep. Leaving the team at a discreet dis- 
tance in care of Gamma, Alpha the Sly and his lieutenant 
manoeuvred their v^ay to the college buildings. By cutting 
out a pane of glass, an entrance was efifected and in a space 
of time that was not needlessly prolonged, the bust, care- 
fully wrapped to keep it from injury, was on its way to the 
carriage. As soon as it was safely bestowed therein, the 
expedition faced for home in a pouring rain. 

When a mile or two of the return journev had been cov- 
ered. Alpha the Sly discovered that his pocket handkerchief 
was missing. The last he could remember of it was that 
he had it out when the pane of glass was cutting. It had 
his initials on it, and must be recovered quocnmque dis- 
pcndio temporis. So back they turned and found the lost 
article under the window by which entrance had been 
effected. Notwithstanding this delay, the adventurers were 
able by a little forcing fo reach Brunswick and land the bust 
safely in the society's headquarters, in ample time for morn- 
ing chapel. 

That evening there was a grand convocation of Phi Chi. 
The bust was on exhibitioii, of course, and was duly 

21 



TAIvES 01? BOWDOIN 

admired ; the story of the expedition was related in full 
detail, and enthusiastically cheered. There was also the 
usual amount of atrocious punning-, such as "that bates all," 
"it is too bad to rob Bates College of all her Cheney- ware," 
and "I wonder how long it will take President Cheney to 
get over his bust this time." Finally all gathered around 
the bust and joined in singing "Do they miss me at home, 
do they miss me?" after which they retired to their rooms 
to prepare themselves for their early morning recitation in 
Greek. 

At all subsequent meetings of Phi Chi during the year 
the bust was on exhibition with other trophies, but in the 
mtervals, it was thought best to conceal it. There were 
various devices for doing this, but sometimes it was hidden 
in a large pile of feathers. How those feathers came there 
I never knew, but should surmise that for a long time after 
Winthrop Hall was built, all the chickens, turkeys, ducks 
and geese eaten by the college faculty, must have been taken 
up there to be plucked. 

As soon as the loss of the bust was discovered, President 
Cheney, it was reported, began vigorous efforts to recover 
it. His suspicions first very naturally fell on his own Soph- 
omores. He called them together and with tears in his 
eyes, charged them with the crime, and threatened to expel 
the whole lot of them unless the bust was returned. They 
on their part, with tears in their eyes, protested their inno- 
cence, and so, though he didn't half believe them, he for- 
gave them, we were told. 

He then came to Bowdoin and reported his loss to Presi- 
dent Woods, with the request that diligent search and 
inquiry be made to ascertain whether the lost had not found 
its way thither. President Woods, deeply sympathetic, 
though he was unable to believe that his Sophomores would 

22 



thf; borrowing of prkside;nt chf,ney's bust 

do such a deed, made the investigation as requested, but 
without avail. He was furthermore able to prove an alibi 
for Bowdoin on the ground that on the evening before and 
the morning after the bust was taken, every member of the 
class of '67 was present at chapel except one who was 
proven, however, to have spent the entire night in his bed 
at his home in Bath. 

It was reported that President Cheney made the same 
request at Waterville and Dartmouth and, indeed, at all the 
New England colleges, and theological seminaries, and 
other institutions where he thoug'ht that by any possibility 
the bust might turn up, but the search of course was fruit- 
less. 

But meanwhile the Sophomore year of '67 began to draw 
to its close, when Phi Chi with all its opportunities and 
responsibilities must be transferred to '68. I will restrain 
myself from all sentimentality over this farewell to prank 
and frolic, and I only allude to it, to say that as the day for 
it approached, the question, what to do with the bust, 
became a matter of considerable deliberation. It was not 
thought best to leave it to the Phi Chis of '68, partly for 
fear they would not take as reverent care of it as it deserved, 
but chiefly because there appeared to be no secure way of 
concealing it. In the annual change and repairing that took 
place in the summer vacation, it would be safe in no stu- 
dent's room unless he staid to watch it, and as for the attic 
of Wintlirop Hall, — well, there was no certainty that the 
President, or Prof. Packard, or even Prof. Upham might 
not take it into his head to climb up there, since there would 
be no students around to catch them at it. They were not 
considered by Phi Chi as trustworthy. But even if they 
refrained, it was more than probable that the college carpen- 

23 



TALKS OF BOWDOIN 

ter would come prowling around. He had found things up 
there before, and might try it again. 

A good many suggestions were made as to the disposal of 
the bust, but none of them seemed worthy. It may be asked 
why it was not sent back to President Cheney. Well, I can 
best explain why by relating the story of the Kentucky 
colonel who reported to his friends one morning that a won- 
derful feat of legerdemain had been performed at his club 
the evening before, by a guest from Vermont, "We put a 
glass of water in his hand," explained the colonel, "and 
covered him over with a blanket; when at the end of two 
or three minutes we took the blanket off, the glassi was 
empty, but we couldn't find a sign of water on his clothing, 
or on the blanket, or anywhere about. Now, Vv^hat did he do 
with it?" At last some one suggested that perhaps he drank 
it, "By George !" exclaimed the colonel slapping his thigh, 
"none of us ever thought of that." 

But at last a plan was hit upon that met with general 
approval ; it Vv^as to send the bust to Barnum, who was then 
fitting up his second museum in New York city, his first 
having been burned a short time previously. The bust was 
accordingly packed carefully in a strong box to keep it from 
all injury, and properly marked with its destination and "to 
be handled with care." As it was seen that it would hardly 
do to ship the package by express from Brunswick, it was 
taken to Portland by private conveyance and sent from 
there, the expressage to be paid by the receiver. Then for 
a time all knowledge of the bust was lost. Whether indeed 
it reached its destination in safety could only be guessed, 
because for obvious reasons no receipt had been asked for. 

It did, however, as was afterwards learned, reach Barnum's 
safely, but as none of his people knew whom it represented, 

24 



THE BORROWING O^ PREISIDE^NT CHENEY'S BUST 

or who had sent it, it was placed on a shelf among other 
curiosities. 

It came about perchance a few years later that a son of 
President Cheney found himself in New York with a little 
leisure on his hands, and decided to "take in Barnum's." 
As he strayed from ward to ward, looking at the various 
curios and phenomena, behold the lost bust of his father, 
marked "Sophocles," and claiming to have been made from 
a death mask of that worthy by an eminent artist, and 
obtained by the "Great Showman" at a cost of $25,000. 

Young Cheney, as you may surmise, lost no time in 
reporting the discovery to his father, and also in bringing 
the matter to the attention of Barnum. As the bust was 
neither a freak nor a fraud, Barnum was willing to part 
with it, and thus at length the lost found its way back into 
the possession of its owner ; and I may add in conclusion, 
that none were more pleased over the final outcome than the 
ex-members of Phi Chi of the class of '^J. 



A TALE OF TWO FRESHMEN 

HUNRY Smith Chapman, '91 



A TALE or TWO TPESHMEN 



WHEN Dexter Morgan first appeared on the campus, 
there was much felicitation in athletic circles. Johnny 
Moore, the captain of the foot-ball team had seen him at the 
station, and remarked to a companion, with an enthusiasm 
rarely displayed by a public character weighed down by 
such momentous responsibilities, that there was one Fresh- 
man at least who seemed to have been put together with 
special reference to the game of foot-ball. Kip White, 
moreover, who held a similar position of authority in the 
track-team, observing the stranger from the window of his 
room, where he lounged in the lazy autumn sunshine, was 
moved to declare him the most hopeful raw material he had 
seen since he first wore running-breeches. 

"He looks as if he could do anything from the hundred 
yards to the hammer-throw, and do 'em all equally well," 
was the flattering sum of his critical judgment. 

The young Freshman certainly offered very unusual 
physical recommendations. His frame was at once sturdy 
and supple, his breadth of chest and length of limb were 
equally admirable, while a certain grace and pliability of 
movement showed the perfect balance of his strength. A 
well-featured fellow he was, too, with a straightforward eye, 
and a mouth which clearly bespoke firmness and will power. 
When it was learned that beside all this, he was the son of 
Col. Morgan v/hom everyone knew as one of the ablest law- 

29 



TAI^ES OS' BOWDOIN 

yers in New York, and therefore in the country ; a faithful 
alumnus, moreover, and a trustee of the college, it needed 
no occult power of divination to fortell his early eminence 
in his class. 

But somehow things failed to turn out according to 
expectation, and in proportion as Dexter's rise in the esti- 
mation of his college-mates had been swift, so was his fall 
headlong. The first shock was administered to Johnny 
Moore who hurried around to Morgan's room in South 
Maine as soon as he could find a few moments to spare from 
his arduous duties with the awkward squad on Whittier 
Field. He was cordial almost to the point of condescension, 
but Morgan who might better have appreciated the captain's 
friendly intentions, if he had ever seen the haughty manner 
in which he ordered other Freshmen into canvas jackets 
and moleskins, froze him with distant politeness. 

He was very glad to be honored by a call from Mr. 
Moore; the courtesy was appreciated, but he was sorry it 
wouldn't be possible for him to oblige Mr. Moore by join- 
ing the foot-ball squad. He didn't care to play. 

Johnny was not used to this sort of talk from a Freshman, 
and still less prepared for the air of cool self-possession with 
which it was accompanied. He stared incredulously at 
Dexter, and asked him if he didn't know the eame, "because 
if you don't," he added, patronizing once more, "you ought 
to, with such a build as yours." 

Mr. Morgan, it appeared, had had some experience with 
the game in preparatory school, but didn't care to pursue it 
further. No, his parents had no objection that he knew of, 
to the game, but he thought he would better keep out of it, 
and he imperturbably bowed the astonished captain out at 
the door. Johnny did not surrender so easily, however, for 
he could not think with patience of so much rare strength 

30 



A TALI-; OF TWO F'RElSHMfiN 

and agility going, as it were, to waste, but though he bom- 
barded the incxpHcable boy with arguments until he fairly 
lost his own temper, he failed to move the quiet and polite 
determination with which Dexter held him off. 

Of course the big Freshman fell irretrievably in the opin- 
ion of most, when this state of affairs became known. He 
followed it up by declining with the same air of indifference, 
the invitation to organize his own class team, and even 
remained away from the class-meetings whereat the new- 
comers became better acquainted with one another, and dis- 
cussed the plan of campaign to be directed against the 
arrogant Sophomores. 

As a crowning piece of indiscretion, he snubbed the 
upper-classmen who came to dangle fraternity badges before 
him. His own father had belonged to a society long since 
defunct so far as Bowdoin was concerned, and he was there- 
fore "fair game." Half a dozen invitations to fraternity 
chapter-houses and dining-clubs were extended to him ; 
almost any society would have pledged him willingly, but he 
was shy. Every invitation was declined with cool courtesy, 
and he made it no secret that he did not propose to become 
a fraternity man. 

Thus from being in a fair wav to becom.e a college hero, 
Dexter Morgan became first a college mystery and then an 
object of general suspicion and reproach. He never failed 
to be polite, and could not fairly be charged with freshness 
or sullenness. He merely held everyone at arm's length and 
neither had nor wanted intimates. He roomed alone and 
was never known to call on any of his classmates. In the 
class-room he did well enough and when he was not study- 
ing or reading he was most likely to be ranging alone over 
the country about Brunswick, gaining by long hard walks 
the exercise his vigorous body required. It was not unusual 

31 



TALlvS OTf BOWDOIN 

for him to cover fifteen miles in an afternoon, and before 
many weeks had passed there was hardly, a picturesque 
fringe of the rugged shore of the bay, or a sparkling reach 
of the broad river which he did not know as well as if he 
had lived in the old town all his life. 

His class-mate Charley Marryat was the only one who 
seemed able to establish any relations whatever with him. 
Charley did not come to college that fall tmtil late in Octo- 
ber, — there was some trouble or other with his eyes, — and 
by the time he arrived every room in the dormitories was 
taken. But he brought with him a letter from his father, 
an obscure minister in some little town up the State, but 
who had been a class-mate and friend of the great Col. 
Morgan. His letter was addressed to Dexter Morgan, who 
Avhen he had read it hastened to ask its anxious bearer to 
share his rooms with, him, an offer which was gratefully 
accepted. 

Perhaps Charley's appearance had as much to do with the 
matter as the contents of the letter, for Dexter was a soft- 
hearted fellow in spite of his dignity^ and no one could look 
at Charley without feeling a little sorry for him. He was 
a frail, almost puny little fellow, with pale straw-colored 
hair and large china-blue eyes. With this ensemble went 
an appropriately timid, appealing manner, which was not 
exactly sapless either. It simply called your attention to 
his extreme youth and delicate health, and without com- 
plaining about them at all, nevertheless urged you to do 
whatever you could to make things easier for him. 

So Charley moved an old second-hand desk, a couple of 
chairs and some other necessaries into Morgan's room, 
which was already furnished about to its limit with the 
nicest things that good taste could select and abundant 
money could buy. He also erected a shrine to his big room- 

32 



A TALE OF TWO FRESHMEN 

mate in the recesses of his heart and worshipped him there 
as few men have the fortune to be worshipped by one of 
their kind. It was not strange that this should be so, for 
Dexter had every advantage which the other lacked, and 
combined with them a kindliness and gentleness of manner 
toward his new friend which would alone have won 
Charley's susceptible heart. Their's was the attraction of 
opposite natures, v/hich, when it really manifests itself, is 
more powerfully magnetic than any other. 

It was a welcome change for Dexter, to have someone 
with whom he must live in relations of the closest intimacy. 
He was neither reserved nor sulky by nature, and though 
by his deliberate choice he had cut himself off from the 
companionship of his college-mates, he had already begun 
to find the life of a solitary decidedly irksome. But though 
Charley, in his affection and admiration for his new friend, 
set himself at once both to find out the cause of his 
unaccountable behavior and to induce him to alter it, he 
made little headway. Dexter was willing to be as cheerful 
and companionable as possible with him, but he was not to 
be allured from his lofty attitude toward everyone else. It 
was not merely a disappointment, but a grief to Charley 
that this was so. He could not bear that his room-mate 
should be anything else than the leader he was bom to be, 
the conspicuous figure first of his class, and then of the 
whole college. It worried him to hear Dexter called stiff, 
and proud, and conceited and priggish, when he knew what 
a charming fellow he could be when he chose, and it hurt 
him that Dexter would not give him his confidence and 
explain conduct so incomprehensible. But through it all 
he was loyal and against the all but unanimous verdict of 
practical ostracism which the college democracy passed 
B 33 



TALES OF EOWDOIN 

against his friend, his shrill voice was raised in unending 
protest. 

The snow came late that winter, and all through Decem- 
ber Dexter Morgan found it possible to take the long, hard 
walks from which he drew so much solace. Now and then 
the faithful Charley, if he felt more energetic than common, 
accompanied him, though both pace and distance had to be 
modified to suit his strength. One bright Saturday, near 
the close of the term, the two boys made a joint expeditiork 
to the old shipyard on the road to Harpswell. The yard, 
once as busy as any along the New England coast, in the 
days of wood and canvas, when the Yankee clipper-ships 
were mistresses of the sea, was deserted now, though the 
last vessel had left the stocks only a few years before. The 
road which led in from the four-barred gate, over the hill 
and under the pine trees to the water side, was overgrown 
with grass, the shops and sheds were rotting in idleness, 
the ground where once great ships had proudly risen was 
littered with decaying timbers, and the odds and ends of 
iron and rope which the workmen had not thought it worth 
while to take away. On the slope of the hill overlooking 
these ruins of a once great industry, and giving prospect of 
the waters of the Cove, and the rocky shores and evergreen 
heights of Prince's Point opposite them, the boys sat down 
to drink in the picturesque beauty of the scene. The tide — 
fortunately — was full, and the steel-blue water sparkled 
frostily in the bright sunlight, with the cold brilliance of a 
northern sea in winter. 

"Br-r-r ! It makes my teeth chatter to look at it," said 
Dexter, burlesquing a shiver as he spoke. "Doesn't it look 
icy, Kid?" 

Charley agreed absently. He was nerving himself to 
speak more openly to his friend than he had yet dared, and 

34 



A tai,e; of two freshmen 

liardly knew to what he was assenting. At last he found 
his courage and spoke: 

"Dexter, will you mind it, if I ask you to tell me why 
you wouldn't try for the team this fall ? You know as well 
as I do that you could have made it, and what's more you 
knew they needed you. They wouldn't have lost the 
Amherst game and come so confoundedly near dropping to 
Bates, with you at tackle in place of that mark, Weeks." 

Dexter did not answer at once, and Charley watched him 
anxiously. 

"There isn't any reason which would have kept you out 
of the game if you had been in my place, is there, Kid?'^ 
he said at length. 

"Of course there isn't. I wouldn't see Bowdoin put out 
anything but the best in any line, if it lay with me to help 
it," replied Marryat, flushing indignantly. 

"Ah ! that's the difference, you see," said Morgan. "I 
haven't gotten to feel that way yet. I doubt if I ever do. 
We don't look at things the same way. Kid." 

Charley regarded him hopelessly. "You don't need to 
tell me that," he said. "What I want you to do is to tell 
me your point of view. You understand mine well enough, 
but I can't make yours out. The fellows say you are — well, 
I won't say what — but I know better. There's something 
back of it all, and I wish you'd tell me what it is. Why 
wouldn't you join any of the fraternities either? Oh, you 
see I'm going to have it out with you now I've begun. 
You'll feel better for telling me, anyway, old man. It's 
worth while giving your confidence to somebody." 

There was another pause when Charley stopped speaking, 
as though the other were considering whether it was best, 
after all, to be equally frank. But in reality Dexter was 
glad of the chance to speak what was in his mind. His 

35 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

hesitation was more the effect of his fear that if he spoke 
he would inevitably fall in the estimation of the only friend 
he had in college — he who had always had so many friends 
and admirers. 

"You won't think any the more of me if I tell you," he 
said finally; "but I'll do it all the same. The fact is I never 
wanted to come here anyway. All my friends in New York 
and most of the fellows I knew at school have gone to Yale, 
and I wanted to go with them. Father insisted on my 
coming to Bowdoin. I came, of course, but I've never pre- 
tended to be glad I came. What's the use? If I could 
make the Yale team now, it would be worth while, but I 
don't care the snap of my finger for foot-ball here. What 
does it amount to anyway? There's no name to be made in 
games with a lot of small college teams — no one hears of 
you up here. And I've no call to work myself half to death 
for a college I didn't want to go to, and don't want to stay 
in. I can see you're looking sour, Kid, but I'm telling you 
my point of view. You don't like it, but you asked for it." 

"I'm not looking sour. Dexter, and I'm ever so much 
obliged to you for speaking. It's hard for me to under- 
stand, you know, for I've been brought up all my life to 
look forward to coming to Bowdoin, till I've come to think 
it about the best luck a man can have, to be here. I didn't 
realize how you felt. I never heard you speak of Yale." 

"No, you haven't. Why should I? It wouldn't help 
things to growl over them in public." 

"I'm sorry, old man." Charley's voice was very sympa- 
thetic; he had a genius for sympathy. "I wish you could 
get around to my point of view — or else I wish we could 
change ours about. You could do so much for the college 
if you had mine, and I couldn't do any less for it if I had 
yours." 

36 



A tale; of two freshmen 

Dexter's answer was gruff in tone, but kindly in under- 
tone. "Shut up, Kid!" he said^ "Don't talk nonsense. 
You will do more for anything you're fond of than I could 
Avith all my muscle. You've got things that count for more 
than all the athletic records a man can make. You've got 
brains for one thing, and common sense, and a bit of honest 
sentiment, and, by George, I think sometimes I haven't a 
particle of any of them. But 'I'm made the way I'm made,' 
as the old darkey said, and 'it look like it'll take a mighty 
outpourin' of grace to save me.' " 

Charley smiled merrily. "No one can say you're not 
modest as to your own merits," he said. "You'll come 
around in time, old man. You've been disappointed, but 
you'll find the old college a pretty good place after all. 
Your father loves it, and so does mine, and what is good 
enough for them can't be much beneath their sons." 

"I'm an obstinate brute though, Charley," returned Dex- 
ter, "and when I'm started in one direction, it's awfully hard 
to make me change my course. So far I've done the best I 
could to spoil my course here, and I guess I've made a 
pretty thorough job of it. The fellows have me sized up 
pretty well — and mind you, I don't say I'm sorry either. 
I can rub along all right if it's my luck to stay, and if I can 
induce the Colonel to relent next year, why, I shan't regret 
having stuck it out the way I began. There's one thing I 
won't do, and that is — pretend. I didn't want to come here, 
and I don't want to stay." 

"I shan't give you up, though," returned Charley, rising 
to his feet. "You're just the sort of fellow who will be at 
home at Bowdoin, when you're ready to look at things 
more reasonably, and all you've got to do is to be your real 
self to bring the whole push around to 3'ou, whenever you'd 
rather have them friends than enemies. You're on the 

37 



TAI^ES 01? BOWDOIN 

wrong track now, and down at the bottom of your heart 
you know it. You're getting to hke the old college, in 
spite of yourself, and you do not mean half you say. By 
spring you won't mean any of it and then you'll stop saying 
it. There's some missionary work to be done with you, 
my boy, and I'm appointed to do it. Now let's go home. 
It's cold sitting here." 



II 

The winter passed at last, as all Maine winters do if one 
only, has patience with them, and Charley was still at his 
missionary work. Dexter yielded slowly, indeed at times 
it seemed that he had not yielded at all. and fits of dis- 
couragement often depressed the spirits of his ardent little 
friend. He did come to know some of his class-mates 
better, however. They came to see Charley, and Dexter, 
who was only a big boy, in spite of his stubbornness, could 
not help laughing and joking with them, and so getting to 
like them. But though he made in this way a few personal 
friends, who one by one came to admire him almost as 
much as Charley did, he stood as much aloof from the col- 
lege at large as ever, and displayed no sort of interest in any 
of the student activities of the institution. 

His long walks had at length to be given up, for the snow 
made them more laborious than enjoyable, and Dexter's 
abundant energy next turned itself upon gymnasium work. 
He spent no less than two hours a day in the building 
performing with enthusiasm what most of the college 
endured as drudgery, and finishing his daily employment of 
every appliance on the floor with a run of several miles 
around the gallery-track. At which sight the track-men 
groaned, for it was evident that this contrary, inexplicable 



A TALE 01'' TWO FRESHMEN 

Freshman was by long odds the best distance man in col- 
lege — and he would not consent to train. 

When the first chill days of Spring came round, the roads 
being still so deep in slush and mud that tramping was out 
of the question, the cinder-track on Whittier field offered 
good footing and fresher air than was to be found under 
the gymnasium roof. So it was there he took his exercise, 
a stiff three-mile run at the close of every afternoon — rain 
or shine. And at sight of his swinging, tireless pace the 
track-men gnashed their teeth afresh and declared that the 
sulky Freshman ought to be hazed till he knew his place 
and saw his duty. Perhaps he should have been, but no 
one cared to undertake the task. Charley Marryat's 
methods were more likely to prove effective with Dexter 
Morgan's kind of stubbornness. 

Charley was really producing his effect ; for Dexter was 
alread}'- heartily ashamed of his peevishness. He found the 
fellows he knew companionable and manly, and those who 
cut him on the street (of whom there were a few) had, as 
he admitted to himself, what he should consider ample justi- 
fication. He was sometimes surprised that he had not been 
sent to Coventry long ago by the united action of the fel- 
lows. Little by little, too, he began to recognize the atmos- 
phere of the college, and to like ii, and to understand why 
his father loved it, and why his classmates loved it too. 
The spirit of the place, as well as the admonitions of 
Charley Marryat, was beginning to work within him, and 
though he knew himself to be outside the hearty and whole- 
some life of the college, he felt that he was being drawn 
into it even against his will, as a strong swimmer is drawn 
into the vortex of a whirlpool. Gradually, through Charley, 
his circle of acquaintances was widening. Gradually he 
was getting to know the fellows he met, better, and as the 

39 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

barrier of suspicion and reserve between them was broken 
down, he found in them fresh sources of contagion from 
which the infectious Bowdoin spirit might be caught. All 
this he would hardly admit even to himself, but when he 
found himself unconsciously humming "Phi Chi" as he 
rubbed down in the gymnasium after his daily run, he could 
not deny that he was failing to maintain his pose of indiffer- 
ence with entire success. Of course he still wanted to go to 
Yale — there was no doubt about that, but he was beginning 
to understand how he might be very happy at Bowdoin — if 
he had started in right, and how he might in time grow 
really fond of the college. 

He was in one of these "melting" moods, when Kip 
White, already introduced to the reader, appeared at his 
room to make a last appeal in behalf of the track team. 
Kip was a tall, rangy youth, with hair which blazed aggres- 
sively, and eyes which snapped when they did not twinkle. 

"The Worcester meet is only three weeks off, Morgan," 
he began pathetically, "and we've got a team which will give 
a good account of itself from top to bottom. Jack Stillings 
is good for a place in the dashes — perhaps for a win. 
Stump Grattan and myself will attend to the hurdles and 
the long jump. There's Forster and Bemis in the weights, 
Berny Sweeney in the pole vault, and Phip Douglass and 
Skinner Jones in the middle distance. But we haven't a 
single good long distance man. I don't know what else you 
can do, but I know you can run the mile and the two-mile 
in pretty near record time. I held a watch on you the other 
day, from behind the stand — you won't mind, will you? — 
and with you to hold up our end there, we'll have the best- 
rounded team the college has ever had. If you won't we'll 
have to depend on Dietrich, and he can't get even a third, 

40 



A TALE OF TWO FRESHMEN 

unless ever}'bocly else sprains an ankle goin^ the first lap. 
What do you say ?" 

Dexter was very near to saying "Yes" at once. It seemed 
a lucky chance that he should have so apt an opportunity to 
purge himself of sullenness and indifference without having 
to make the first advances himself. But a stubborn spirit 
still possessed him. He would not give in too easily. 

"You give my running more credit than it deserves," he 
said. "I only run for exercise." 

"Whatever you run for, you can beat any man in college 
at a distance," asserted Kip. "I think you're sure of points 
at Worcester, too. At any rate you ought to try, for the 
sake of the college." 

Dexter smiled a little bitterly, but he onlv said : "I haven't 
been training properly, you know. I was smoking when 
you knocked on the door, and I haven't followed training 
rules of diet by a good deal." 

"There's lime enough for that yet," argued Kip. "Your 
condition is near perfect anyhow, and a couple of weeks' 
good training will put you right on edge. And even with- 
out strict training you can run. I've seen you." 

While the two were talking Charley Marryat had been 
listening nervously, his eyes fixed on his room-mate. Now 
he broke in eagerly : 

"Say you'll do it, Dex ! It's a chance I'd give a farm 
for ! Do it like a good fellow, won't 3^ou ?" 

Dexter did not answer at once, and when he did he spoke 
hesitatingly. "I can't answer tonight, White," he said. I 
really don't want to, you know. It means work and bother 
and the end doesn't count for much with me, I'll admit. 
But perhaps I shall com.e around to it." 

White's eyes snapped warningly, for the Freshman's 
coolness annoyed him. 

41 



TALES OF BOVV'DOIN 

"The boys all said )'ou wouldn't do it," he said, getting 
up. "But I told them you would if it was put before you 
right. You think it over. It means more to you, as I look 
at it, than it does to the team." 

It wasn't a fortunate thing to say, for it pricked Dexter's 
obstinacy awake again. He said nothing but, "All right, 
I'll think it over;" but to himself he grumbled, "If he thinks 
he can work me that way, he's mistaken. If I do run, it 
won't be because I want him and his crowd to jolly me 
along. I can get along all right without them, I guess." 

As White left the room Charley got up and followed him 
into the hall. 

"Kip," he said, "when the entries go in — vou enter Mor- 
gan for the mile and the two-mile. Never mind what he 
says beforehand. It won't do any harm, and I think I can 
^et him to run, if you'll let me manage it." 

"All right. I'll enter him," replied the track-captain. 
"But he might as well understand that if he stays out of this, 
there'll be no notice taken of him in the future. He can do 
the college a good turn now, and if he won't, why, we don't 
have to get down on our knees to any self-important, con- 
ceited prig of a Freshman, whether he's the son of Colonel 
Morgan of New York or of the President of the United 
States !" 

Kip spoke with some asperity, and he did not realize 
that his voice, somewhat shrill by nature, rose in pitch 
as he spoke. The door was closed, to be sure, but his 
final words pierced it. Not wholly intelligible when they 
reached Dexter's ears, they still conveyed their sense and 
froze his uncertain purpose into determination. He would 
see Kip White elsewhere before he'd run for his team. 

He had cooled off by morning, but the decision he had 
reached had become inflexible in the process. Charley 

42 



A TALE OF TWO FRESHMEN 

found it harder than ever to move him, though he could not 
discover why it was so. 

"Dex, old man," he said finally, as near losing- his patience 
as it was possible for him to come, ''I don't like to put it on 
this ground, but I wish you'd do it for me. You know how 
much I want to do something for the old college, now, while 
I'm here. Perhaps because it's the thing I can do least 
of all I feel especially so about athletics. Of course 
there's nothing I can possibly do myself, but if I could per- 
suade you to run at Worcester, it would lead to so much 
else, and I should feel that I had done a real service, both to 
you and to the college. Why won't you, old man?" 

"Well, well. Kid, perhaps I wall," responded Dexter 
snappishly. "You'll nag me to it, if there's no otBer way, 
I suppose." At which unkind remark, poor Charley, who 
had the sensitive man's fear of making himself a bore, 
flushed and was silent. 

It w^as only a few days after this that Charley came in 
from recitation to find his room-mate hastily throwing his 
things into an open suit-case. He looked pale and anxious, 
and his smile as he looked up was a haggard affair. 

"Your good counsel is all for naught. Kid," he said, 
nodding tow^ard an opened telegram lying on the center 
table. "The Worcester meet will have to go on without me 
this spring. The Colonel's sick — something sudden and 
serious, they tell me and perhaps I shan't ever come back 
again." 

He spoke with laborious self-command, but there were 
tears in his eyes. He loved his father dearlv and just now 
he was thinking how little he had done to make the last few 
months happy for him. Charley, with a sympathy subtle 
beyond his years, understood him, and silently pressed his 
hand. Almost without words, they parted at the station; 

43 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

but they had never been so close to one another as they were 
then. 

The college heard of Dexter's departure without emotion. 
The track-men lamented the final disappointment of the 
hopes they had entertained of him, but otherwise no one 
seemed much concerned about him. There were a few per- 
functory words of regret and that was all. Never before 
had Charley realized how completely his friend's conduct 
had alienated the ready sympathy of all except himself. 



Ill 

The day of the Worcester meet that year was as nearly^ 
perfect as a day in May can be — which means a good deal. 
The pretty oval was flooded in sunshine, and the fresh, cool 
green of grass and trees formed a rich setting for a 'scene of 
life and color which glovv^ed and shifted in fascinating com- 
plexity. The stand was full to overflowing and the bright 
spring gowns and blossoming hats of the oretty girls who 
had flocked to watch and applaud their brothers and 
friends — or more than friends — gave it the various hues of 
a huge but incoherent kaleidescope. A romantic glamour 
surrounds those great athletic meets of antiquity — the 
Olympic games. But after all, what tame affairs they must 
have been, since no women were allowed to witness them ! 
Whether the ancient records are beaten now-a-days or not, 
no one can say, and no one much cares. But what a pity 
the old Greek champions could not have had the supreme 
pleasure of winning their victories in the very sight of the 
girls for whose good opinion they cared as much, no doubt, 
as do their modern successors ! 

44 



A TALE OF TWO FRESHMEN 

Among the soberer groups of dark-clothed youths who 
thronged the track and field, shone an occasional white-clad 
athlete, while on every hand, in knots and flags and 
streamers, waved and floated the colors of the rival colleges ; 
the dark green of Dartmouth, the rich purples of Amherst 
and of Williams, the sober brown of the Rhode Island 
college, the steel gray and cardinal of Tech, the gleaming 
v/hite of Bowdoin. 

One young fellow who sat far back in the stand, an 
inconspicuous knot of white in his buttonhole, watched it 
all with a strange blending of enjoyment and unhappiness. 
It was Dexter Morgan, who, on his way back to Brunswick, 
found himself entirely unable to resist the temptation to 
leave his train at Worcester and follow the crowds out from 
the city to the oval. It was perhaps the instinct of the born 
athlete, who never willingly misses a public contest in the 
sports he loves, though there was at bottom another reason, 
too, a newborn interest in his own college and its team. 

He had found his father very ill, but not, as he had 
feared, dying. He had waited until the doctors declared 
him well on the road to recovery and had a few serious 
talks Avith him as he sat by the bedside. What passed 
between them Dexter never told. Whatever it was, it was 
the final influence in the process of effecting a good and 
permanent amendment in his disposition. Now as he sat 
by himself in the stand, he wished heartily that he might be 
down there with the rest, wearing his "Bowdoin" proudly 
across his bosom, and ready to do what he could for the 
honor of his college. The snap of the referee's pistol as 
the hundred-yard trials began, broke in upon his revery, 
and he found himself suddenly upon his feet, watching long- 
legged Jack Stilhngs romp away from his field, and shout- 

45 



TALES O^ BOWDOIN 

ing lustily as he br^sted the tape five yards in the lead. 
A few moments later he was cheering Kip White, whose 
ruddy shock of hair rose and fell as hurdle after hurdle was 
cleared, and finally, though hard pushed in the flat by a big 
Williams runner, flashed by the judges in first place. 
"Skinner" Jones he saw draw a second in the quarter-mile, 
and Stump Grattan in spite of his short legs attained a simi- 
lar distinction in the low hurdles. Over in the field he 
could see Bemis and Forster hurling the discus with 
encouraging strenuousness, while the staccato yell of a small 
but earnest band of Bowdoin rooters further down the stand 
set his blood to tingling with the thrill of the occasion. 

He could not sit still, and paced up and down at the back 
of the stand, eager to join the other wearers of the white, 
but not sufficiently sure of the reception which would be 
accorded him to make the venture. On every hand he could 
hear surpnsed comments on the strength of the team the 
Maine college had sent out and confident predictions that 
the race would lie between Bowdoin, Dartmouth and Brown. 
Then he had to watch the mile run drag its slow length 
along, the single Bowdoin entry, poor old Dietrich, falling 
further and further behind at every stride, 

"Oh, why don't you run! rim! you lobster!" he growled 
to himself. "Put your head back and climb ! Confound 
him ! he's stopping! My soul, what an exhibition!" and he 
clenched his fists in fierce indignation. 

He heard a man wearing the green laugh sarcastically. 
"They don't train 'stayers' up in Maine," he was saying to 
a pretty girl who sat beside him. "They'll never beat us 
out without a point or two in the distance events. Look 
at Symmes spurt! There's five more points for old 
Da-di-di-Dartmcuth ! Wow !" 

46 



A TALE OF TWO FRESHMEN 

Suddenly as he listened, irritated unreasonably by the 
man's enthusiasm, Dexter was struck by a bold idea. To 
think was generally to act with him, and a few moments 
later he was pushing his way across the track and through 
the crowd to Kip White's side. The captain was watching 
the pole vaulting, and coaching Berny Sweeney, who was 
struggling for third place with two other unfortunates, red 
in the face with the violence of his efforts at levitation. 
Dexter touched him on the arm. 

"Hullo, Morgan," was White's cool greeting. "Where 
are you from ?" 

Dexter did not think the obvious answer needed to be 
made. He plunged at once into more important matters. 

"What's the outlook?" he inquired. 

White looked at him with some surprise. "Well, we've 
got a fighting chance," he said. "We've sfot seventeen 
points sure, and a few more to come. — Now. Berny, don't 
try to jump it. 1 his is no high jump. Keep cool and push 
like hell with your arms. Don't get rattled. You've got 
that Amherst man winded now. You can last him out. 
Every point counts, you know." Then turning again to 
Morgan he went on : "You saw 'em run old Dutchy off his 
feet, I suppose? Well, we haven't anything else up our 
sleeve. Bemis will collect a point or perhaps three in the 
shot, and Berny here will get a third, I think, but I can't 
figure out more than twenty-three anyhow. Dartmouth 
will do twenty-five anyway, and so will Brown — perhaps 
more. We're still in the ring, but I guess about third will 
have to do us." 

"Have you got some running clothes at the dressing 
rooms that I could wear?" asked Dexter quietly. "We'll 
have to be quick about it, I suppose ; the two-mile will be on 
before very long." 

47 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

White wheeled sharply and looked the Freshman straight 
an the face. "Morgan," he said, "if you pull us out of this, 
we'll never forget it." 

When the entries for the two-mile run lined up before 
the stand, the afternoon sun was hanging low, but the 
excitement of the day was at its height. Bowdoin had 
■Iwentv-twQ points, Dartmouth and Brown each twenty- 
■three. Nothing else except the high jumping remained 
unfinished, and that, as it happened, could not seriously 
.affect the standing of the leaders. The two-mile run must 
decide the result, and the event was held to lie between 
vSymmes who had gallantly won the one-mile for Dart- 
mouth, and W^allis of Brown. The new runner in Bow- 
doin's colors attracted the attention of expert observers by 
■his splendid build, but he was only an inexperienced 
Preshman and could not be expected to do better than 
third. Bowdoin's supporters, already hoarse with vocif- 
-erous endeavors, were moreover stricken dumb with sur- 
prise at the sight of Morgan the irreconcilable, actually there 
on the track, ready to run for his college. While they 
'debated whether or not their organs of vision were to be 
relied on, the pistol cracked and the race began without a 
-single cheer for their representative. Only in his ear 
resounded White's whispered words: 

"Go in and win, old man. You can do it. We won't 
forget this." 

For seven of the eight laps the race as usual lacked 
£very element of dramatic effectiveness. The pace-makers 
capered out in front and ran themselves into exhaustion 
-without disturbing the serenity of the real contestants ; the 
young Freshman from Bowdoin, was not as they had hoped, 
«ven momentarily flighty. He stuck doggedly to Wallis's 
lieels, for he felt that this was the man to watch. Symmes 

48 



A tale: of two freshmen 

had already run a bruising race, and was not fresh. As the 
gong rang at the commencement of the final lap the pent-up 
excitement broke loose in cheers and yells, and among them 
Dexter heard a snappy "B-o-w-d-o-i-n," and then in a clam- 
orous shout his own name — "Morgan !" His pulse quick- 
ened instinctively. 

And now Symmes and Wallis moved out away from the 
other runners who had laboriously kept within a dozen 
yards or so of them — but close behind them, not to be dis- 
lodged, was Morgan. He was surprised to find how easily 
he ran ; the training he had had was so irregular and insuffi- 
cient that he had feared a collapse. But he was not in the 
slightest distress. He had been running greater distances 
than two miles all the winter and all the spring, and was 
well within himself. Symmes was spurting now, trying in 
vain to draw away from his two pursuing shadows. Dexter 
could see his elbows laboring with the stimulated pace. But 
the gap did not widen. On the contrary Wallis and Morgan 
closed up steadily. Symmes had shot his bolt. His spurt 
had been made too early, and he lacked the stamina to pro- 
long it. Dexter wondered dimly as he ran what the man 
whose contemptuous laughter at poor Dietrich's expense 
had so exasperated him, thought about "stayers" now. 

Round the back stretch they went, the confused shouts 
of the crowd remote in a seemingly infinite distance. Now 
they were passing Symmes, who was done for. but strug- 
gled gamely on, and Wallis in turn was trying by a burst 
of speed to shake oft" his only dangerous competitor. It was 
not to be done. Dexter was breathing hard, his head, over- 
charged with blood, spun dizzily, his legs seemed moving 
m erratic defiance of his will, but he had not lost an inch. 
Round the turn into the home stretch thev swung — they 
two, — with the championship hanging on the issue, 
c 49 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

Dexter had run more than one hard race in his school- 
days, but never such a race as this. The sprint had been 
continuous for nearly a quarter of a mile and with his 
irregular training he felt the strain badly. His lungs 
seemed bursting; it hurt to draw each panting breath. 
Things blurred before him, his blood hammered thunder- 
ously in his ears. He felt that he was exhausted, that he 
must give up, and yet so long as that other bobbing automa- 
ton a yard in front of him kept on running, so must he. 

Suddenly, as if by some trick, he found himself side by 
side with Wallis, who had swerved toward the rail. Again 
a few strides, and he could only see his rival out of the tail 
of his eye. He could not imderstand at first. It seemed 
too much to believe that the other had weakened, that he 
himself was actually winning. Before he could settle the 
thing in his puzzled brain, he was aware of a dim blur of 
shouting people on either side of the track, and straight 
ahead among a group who faced him he saw a tall youth 
with briglit red hair who leaped up and down, and waved 
his arms in the air. 

Then across his chest he felt the soft, yielding pressure 
of the tape, and stumbling blindly on, he lav at last closely 
enfolded in Kip White's embrace, while around them danced 
a score of demented young gentlemen, who howled without 
intermission a refrain which seemed to consist of a selected 
portion of the alphabet, varied by something which sounded 
very much like his own name. It was an agreeable occa- 
sion, lie felt, though he would have appreciated it more if 
he had not been so tired. 

"Kip," he said between long breaths, as they led him, still 
the center of the bounding group, to the dressing room, 
"I've been several sorts of a fool this winter. Do you think 
the fellows will forget it, and give me a fresh start ?" 

50 



A tALit OF TWO FRKSHMEN 

"Don't you worry, Colonel," replied White, knighting 
him, as it were, upon the field of victory, with the intimate 
name he was to bear among his college fellowship ; "You've 
earned the right to be any kind of a fool you like." 



IV 

On Monday evening, a great bonfire roared gloriously 
before King Chapel, its flickering blaze throwing the mas- 
sive granite front and the graceful twin spires in golden 
relief against the sombre darkness of the sky. Upon the 
steps of the historic building stood the victorious team, self- 
conscious and embarrassed by their conspicuous position, 
while all the college sang and danced and shouted in their 
honor. Moreover, that the tribute of noise might never 
slacken, a band hired for the occasion executed martial 
music with more spirit than harmony, in the background, 

Least demonstrative, yet perhaps most joyful of all, was 
Charley Marryat, who had been going about in a daze of 
incredulous bliss since the news of Morgan's share in the 
great result had come. The limit of his capacity for sheer 
ecstasy of happiness was reached when his idolized friend 
was called on for a speech amidst the frenzied acclamations 
of the fellows, who but a few days before would have had 
but the coldest of nods for him had they met on street or 
campus. 

Dexter was pale with excitement and fatigue, but his fine 
presence and dignified manner, inheritances from his distin- 
guished father, made him in spite of his vouth and embar- 
rassment, a genuinely commanding figure. 

"I have done nothing to call for this honor." he said when 
the cheers at last had died away. "You all know how fool- 

51 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

ishly I have behaved since I came to college. I'm glad if I 
have been able to do anything which may help to repair the 
mistakes I have made, and testify to my present love for 
old Bowdoin. Henceforth, if it lies in me, I am going to be 
as good a Bowdoin man as any of you. Some of the boys 
have complimented me by saying the race I was fortunate 
enough to win brought the championship to Bowdoin. If 
it did, I want to tell you that it's not me you have to thank, 
but the man who showed me what the college was, and 
what I owed to it. If it hadn't been for him. there wouldn't 
have been any Bowdoin man in the two-mile event, and per- 
haps, therefore, there wouldn't have been anv championship 
to celebrate tonight. You all know who I mean, I think, — 
Charley Marryat." 

There was another roaring cheer, for Morgan and Mar- 
ryat together this time, and here through the crowd came a 
band of dishevelled Freshmen bearing on unsteady shoul- 
ders, Charley's feebly struggling form. Up to the steps 
they staggered, and there in the midst of the heroes of the 
day they deposited him — a blushing, boyish little figure, 
who could not yet make out what it was all about. But 
Dexter Morgan's big, friendly hand reached out of the con- 
fusing half-darkness and drew him close, while amidst the 
•tumult of the shouting men and the blaring band he heard 
Dexter's voice in his ear : 

"There, Kid, are you satisfied now? Don't ever let me 
hear you say you can't do anything- for the college, for 
you've brought the championship to Bowdoin." 



ST. SIMEON STYLITES 

Kenneth C. M. S11.LS, '01 



5T. SIMEON 5TVLITE5 

iilX LL ready, fellows ! Remember I'll say one, two, three, 
r\ forward! Start on the left. Left! Right! Left! 
Right! Left! Keep in step, Si! Hat on straight, Tom! 
All ready. One! Two! Hulloa, where's St. Simeon?" 
And the marshal looked about searchingly. 

The long line of Juniors, capped and gowned, patiently 
marked time. Half way down on the right there was a 
vacancy. Two or three minutes later St. Simeon came in 
and took his place seriously; but as he was always serious 
his fixed stare passed by unnoticed. Jack Bryant, the mar- 
shal, signalled to the orchestra on Memorial stage, raised 
his white and green decked baton. "Left! Right! Left! 
Right! One, two three, forward!" and the line went^ 
slowly thudding up the aisle. 

Memorial Hall had its usual Ivy Day crowd — the expect- 
ant mothers, the passive fathers, the pretty sisters. And of 
course each proud Junior on his way to the stage hoped to 
see his own friends. As the slowly-marching class reached 
the center of the hall, one maiden whispered loudly to 
another: "That's St. Simeon there, isn't it?" The man 
designated nearly blushed ; for he had never been prominent 
in any way during his college course. He had never been 
pointed out in his life. For three years so quietly, so much 
to himself had he lived that when the class got to studying 
Tennyson in English Lit, someone had dubbed him "St. 

55 



TALI5S Olf BOWDOIN 

Simeon Stylites," and the hastily bestowed nickname had 
stuck. 

The girl who knew him was uncommonly pretty — else 
what were the use- of this tale? — slight and tall with dark 
hair and brown eyes, and a big picture hat. She wore a 
simple white frock. She must be the cousin of Ted Briggs, 
Kathleen North, whom St. Simeon was booked to take 
to the dance that evening. It seemed a pleasant prospect 
but vSt. Simeon gave just the slightest semblance of a sigh 
as the line passed on. At the stage it separated and wound 
its slow way up over the steps and sat down as one man. 

Soon the Ivy Orator was holding forth. His words 
sounded sing-song: for it was hard to see the relation of 
the Philippines to a Bowdoin Ivy Day. St. Simeon began 
to ponder over other things. Only half an hour ago he was 
hunting his room over for his cap — he was always looking 
for his cap. Then long after the starting time he bounded 
down the End stairs. There was need of hurrying. Just 
as he was running down the stone steps the Western Union 
messenger boy rode up on his wheel, 

"Telegram for any one?" 

"Yes, Gordon Fox." 

"Hulloa! That's for me. Probably an Ivy message 
from dad. He knew I was to have a part today." And St. 
Simeon tore the yellow envelope open jaggedly. The cable- 
gram was dated from Rome that morning and read : 

"Dr. Fox died of fever here Thursday. Burial Friday. 

T. H. JOHNSTON, 

U. S. Consul." 

St. Simeon quickly signed the messenger's book, then 
staggered back. His father — gone — and way, way off in 
Rome. His father who had always seemed so young to 
him, — who was looking forward to his son's doing well on 

56 



ST. siMi;oN styute;s 

this very Ivy Day, — who knew what it all meant, for he was 
a Bowdoin man himself. Everything seemed terribly black 
to the poor boy. He opened his gown and crumpled the 
yellov; paper into his pocket. He stood there on the steps 
thinking for a moment or two. Tt would not be plucky to 
give up his part now. Yet it was not clear that he could get 
through. He walked towards Memorial very slowly. A 
squirrel by the side of the path looked up curiously. The 
little fellow was trundling a big nut; and. as St. Simeon 
passed, he covered it with a huge leaf and scampered blithely 
away. 

The next instant St. Simeon somehow or other found his 
mind made up. Try to forget that missive he must, and go 
on with his response. His father would not have willed 
him to falter. He hurried on and joined the line just as 
Ted Briggs was starting after him. As he saw Ted he 
determined to say nothing to any of his friends on that day 
for fear of marring their pleasure. 

The orator was drawing on to the end of his part. In his 
peroration he spoke of a soldier's pluck. St. Simeon braced 
himself involuntarily. The poem which followed was a 
dreary affair; the exercises seemed predestined to failure. 
The president, a close friend of St. Simeon's, looked wor- 
ried. As the poet went on with gushing lines about Spring 
Summer and Autumn and Winter, St. Simeon's thoughts 
again strayed. He looked down at the pretty girl in the 
audience with the big hat and the brown eyes. Almost a 
week before Ivy, Ned Briggs had come to St. Simeon for 
help. He was overwhelmed with two girls who had both 
imexpectedly accepted ; and St. Simeon must take one. He 
had chosen Miss North whom he had seen for a few 
moments at a Junior assembly. How eagerly he had looked 
forward to Ivy Hop it was now idle to think. 

57 



TAI^ES OF BOWDOIN 

When the poet had finished the orchestra played some 
movement that sounded much Hke a dirge. St. Simeon 
pulled at his watch ; as he did so he felt the crumpled tele- 
gram. He wondered if his father had been buried yet, if 
perhaps his body was that very hour being borne down the 
aisle of the English church at Rome. People asked why 
such solemn music was chosen for Ivy Day; but to St. 
Simeon it seemed very natural. 

The president got up to give the customary class history 
and then to make the Ivy presentations. The first two 
responses fell absolutely flat. The exercises were evidently 
a failure. St. Simeon trembled. It was his turn now. 
The president introduced him rather wittily, as "Mr. Gordon 
Fox, the world renowned, tower-dwelling saint of the class." 
St. Simeon thought of getting through quickly,; but he 
threw his whole self into the speech. His wit and quaint 
cynicism made folks wonder if Bowdoin had ever heard a 
more brilliant response in all her Ivy days. Some Seniors 
gasped when the quiet St. Simeon was given a part; they 
gasped more as he spoke on. His thrusts at his fellow 
classmen made them "wood" more than thrice ; his gentle 
and humorous raillery won over the audience. He was the 
saving remnant of the afternoon. 

When he got through, the people in the crowded hall 
almost cheered him. He saw Kathleen North clapping 
mightily. Then he sat down. The whirlwind of applause 
seemed strange to him. It was not right, he thought. He 
wished his father were here instead of in Europe with a sick 
patient. Suddenly a picture stood out before his eyes. 
There was a bare room with staring white-washed walls, a 
little shrine in one corner, and in the center a bier with a 
heavy pall. A man of brown robe anl cowl came in and 
knelt down crossing himself mechanically. He withdrew 

58 



ST. SIMEON STVLITES 

instantly ; and St. Simeon again saw the hats and colors and 
dresses of the Ivy crowd. 

He began to think deeply. Away off in the distance he 
heard the Popular Man accepting the wooden spoon. There 
was some reference to "our St. Simeon ;" and the audience 
broke out into applause again. A professor whose class had 
started Ivy Day said to a young girl by his side, "I never 
heard of anything like that before." 

The orchestra struck up another march and the class went 
out two by two, slowly, rhythmically. St. Simeon's face 
was flushed ; but he still seemed very serious. Everyone 
glanced at him now ; Kathleen smiled up brightly. It was 
hard for St. Simeon not to feel his triumph bitter and 
hollow. 

When the ivy was planted and the ode sung, the class and 
every one else hurried over to the Chapel. St. Simeon 
walked quietly with a couple of friends who warmly hailed 
him. One class-mate who had had a response* ran across the 
campus, tooting a horn merrily, his gown streaming behind 
him. When the Juniors reached the gallery above the 
Chapel the bell had stopped ringing and the service had 
begim. Most of the Juniors looked on impressed. St. 
Simeon noticed one crouch down and take a drink. He 
himself felt faint and sick at heart. The Seniors formed 
their locked-step ranks and marched out slowly. Soon the 
strains of "Auld Lang Syne" arose. Gordon wondered if 
they had Seniors* Last Chapel when his father was in col- 
lege. The next moment he was repeating the graceful lines 
of a young graduate : 

Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 
Though some stand low and some stand high, 

Though some be rich and some be poor 
And some be early doomed to die? 

59 



TAI^ES OF BOWDOIN 



To some will fall the victor's crown, 
The honors and the joys of life, 

But some in sorrow must sink down 
And perish in the world's great strife. 



A Junior or two had already started down the Library 
steps. St, Simeon slipped away, ran quickly to the End, 
and laid aside his gown. He went out past the Gym to the 
pines by the Whittier Field. He was at last by himself. 
Throwing himself down on the ground he sobbed as if his 
heart would break. He just realized that he was all, all 
alone in the world. He thought he heard someone coming 
and crept in under some bushes and lay there thinking. His 
father had ever been a brother to him — a big generous 
brother — and now he was dead and gone. He would never 
know of his son's success that afternoon, never say those 
few words of praise that would mean, oh so much ! 

Just then St. Simeon became aware of footsteps rustling 
over the pine needles, and of a girl's voice. "Didn't Gordon 
Fox do splendidly this afternoon? I'm going with him to 
the dance to-night you know. He's a great friend of 
Ted's." Her companion gave a grudging sort of a reply 
and the two passed on. Gordon wondered what he should 
do about to-night ; he must not let Ted know, and mar his 
fun. He left the question undecided and walked down 
town. Everyone was at supper. He bought an evening 
paper with a long account of Ivy Day; it spoke much of 
Gordon Fox, the son of the well-known physician. This 
was the very paper he had counted on mailing to his father. 
His sorrow was very bitter now ; he almost cursed Fate. 

On his way up Maine street a town girl stopped to tell 
him how well he had done. He thanked her formally and 
hurried on. He went into the room thinking there might 
be another cablegram. Instead he found a note from Ted. 

60 



ST. SIMEON STYUTES 

"We've all gone clown to the Inn. Couldn't find you so took Jordan in 
youi- place. Be sure to turn up at the dance with Miss North's order. 

E. J. B." 

It just occurred to Gordon that he had made out the Hst 
of Miss North's partners and that it was nearly time for her 
to have it. He heard a Freshman go whistling his way to 
his room on the top floor. St. Simeon called him back. "If 
I'm late at the dance, give this to Ted, will you? It's Miss 
North's order." He of the Freshman class gave a long gaze 
of astonishment. "Are you crazy. Saint ? Late for a dance 
with Kathleen North. Why I'd fifty times rather be con- 
ditioned in Buck." And the desperate little fellow hurried 
on. 

St. Simeon sat down in his desk-chair and lit his pipe. 
He looked over the evening paper — not a line about his 
father. All the words became blurred and the praise of his 
own response was intolerable. He got up and went into 
the next room. "Time to get ready for the dance, isn't it, 
old man? Don't you forget you promised me one with 
Miss North, will you ?" And Gates stropped his razor ner- 
vously. St. Simeon made some daft reply and went out of 
the End. 

It was about half past eight and a warm night. Gordon 
started to walk through the Longfellow Woods. The air 
was very soft and crickets innumerable were chirping. He 
found a log in the woods and sat down smoking. Although 
he had always been much by himself he never knew before 
how soothing solitude is. He wondered if at Rome things 
were as beautiful. It was so still there in the woods that 
he walked about until midnight. As he passed Memorial 
on his return he heard a waltz clearly. It was his favorite 
"Donauiveibchen." He wondered what Kathleen North 

6i 



TAI,E;S Olf BOWDOIN 

thought of him and if Jordan were absolutely filling his 
place. Then he walked back to the End. 

He still felt that he must be alone ; and for fear of Ted's 
finding him he went into a Freshman's room whose door his 
key fitted. Towards three o'clock he began to hear fellows 
coming in from the dance. He looked out the window just 
in time to see Jordan and Ted pass by. "Where in the 
world was old St. Simeon ?" said Ted. "He must be sick." 
"Guess not," said Jordan. "You know he's struck on a 
little girl up at Lewiston, probably he's up there. My, but 
he's the fool. Kathleen North can dance, bov. I tell you, 
and — " The two went in and their door slammed. St. 
Simeon still looked out over the pines ; he was a quiet 
thoughtful boy ; and, as he gazed at the great stars, he kept 
asking himself what and where his father was. He pon- 
dered on the mystery until it was almost dawn. Four fel- 
lows, slightly clad, straggled out to play tennis ; two were 
young alumni, two Seniors. They laid down the stakes and 
a queer match followed. Tim Taylor, rather drunk,. strad- 
dled the net-pole, acting as umpire. St. Simeon watched 
their antics for awhile ; then heard them discuss the belle of 
the ball ; three of the five voted for Kathleen North. The 
alumni won the set, 6-2 ; and the players and umpire left the 
court to swallow the prize. 

The sun was rising now. St. Simeon looked up the cam- 
pus towards the Chapel. A peculiar light mist hung about 
the trees midway from the ground; just a faint streak of 
fog. St Simeon went out again for the air seemed to soothe 
him as a quiet physician. A chickadee or two gave the long 
drawn note preceded by a short one, a haunting melancholy- 
cry. Soon all the birds began their matins. Gordon felt 
happier. He wondered if his father had been laid to rest in 
that beautiful Protestant burial ground at Rome that he had 

62 



ST. SIMEON STYUTES 

read about where were the graves of Keats and Shelley ; a 
place he remembered "to make one fall in love with death." 
The thought gave him some comfort. He started on a long 
walk through fields and woods. Soon he met a boy driving 
a herd of cows to the morning's milking. The kine looked 
at him pityingly from their big, beautiful eyes. There was a 
sweet smell from their overflowing udders. The boy 
greeted him and gave him a drink of fresh, foaming milk. 
It was the first little streak of light in a verv dark and dull 
and lowering horizon. St. Simeon was beginning to see 
that if he must live out the rest of his life without the help 
of one who had done everything for him. even milk-boys 
and squirrels and woods and fields were dear companions. 
His father had talked to him often of a love for God's out- 
of-doors. He remembered much being said of Nature 
when the class was studying Wordsworth and Burns. Now 
he began to see a little of the much that it all meant. 

Before he knew it, he was back near the campus ; and the 
bell was ringing for morning chapel. He turned in from 
Maine street thoughtlessly and found himself face to face 
with Ted and Kathleen and the whole party. Ted was 
ahead with his other girl and Kathleen turned around to 
speak to St. Simeon. She held out her hand cordially. 

"Good morning, Mr. Fox. Where were you last night, 
you deserter?"' 

St. Simeon still looked serious and care-worn. "If you'll 
take a short walk with me, I'll tell you all about it," he said. 
"Ted's too interested to care about me now, but if you 
want to — " 

And the two walked through Longfellow Woods; and 
there he told her everything. "I am so sorry^ so very 
sorry" she said ; and St. Simeon knew that Kathleen North 
was a girl who meant each one of her words. 

63 



WHEN THE SELF-SENDER 

WALKED HOME 



C. A. Stephens, '69 



WHEN THE 5ELr-5ENDER WALKED HOME 

Up to 1880 fully thirty per cent, of all Bowdoin men were 
"self-senders" — a term that needed no explanation 
when I was there, late in the sixties. 

At the opening of the college year, in September, when 
the Sophomores and upper classmen were inspecting the 
new Freshmen, with a view to taking them into the societies, 
etc., a common question concerning each was, "Who sends 
him?" — the answer being usually, "His folks," or "Sends 
himself." There was, it is true, an intermediate caste or 
grade, in part assisted by parents, or friends ; but the self- 
senders, pure and simple, were about thirty per cent. 

How this runs since 1880 I am not well informed, but 
believe the per cent, to be less, as it naturally would be, with 
the increase of wealth in the country. The subject is not 
wholly peitinent to my present homely narrative, and is 
introduced merely as a prelude to declaring my own caste 
there ; I Avas a self-sender, and at times a wildly distressed 
one. In truth, the under-graduate whose bills are honored 
by the paterfamilias and who has only to attend to athletics 
and the curriculum, has and can have, no idea of the exigent 
mental attitude of the self-sender ; he is quite another being. 

Eminent educators have held, I believe, that more than 
compensating advantages come to the student who has his 
own way to make, in the habits of thrift and self-reliance 
thus fostered ; but I have never yet met a bona fide self- 
sender who would fully endorse this view, much less one 
who would voluntarily subject himself to such a discipline. 

67 



tai,e:s o^ bowdoin 

But it is a fine topic for the self-made man and others to 
expatiate on to the young, thirty years later, when they have 
all become prosperous, and after a good dinner. It requires 
about that amount of perspective to be really enjoyable. 

My own idea is that the uncertainty, worrv, fret, fear, 
envy and other ignoble emotions that periodically agitate the 
self-sender's mind, rather more than offset any good that 
accrues to him from his scrimping and self-reliance. But 
cases and temperaments differ, no doubt. Some boys have 
better heads for managing these things ; some bear the pres- 
sure of debt with equanimity and a calm confidence in the 
future. One of my college-mates, I remember, was always 
smiling, always happy, always whistling and carroUing like 
a bob-o'-link, though he owed everybody from two old 
aunties at home, to "Gripus" at the college book store; — 
and he who could owe "Gripus" and yet be happy, must 
needs have been panoplied with more than Horatian armor 
of triple brass. But the men of later years don't know 
"Gripus": we did. 

In my own case, the joys of college life were frequently 
devastated by financial crashes which I had not the skill or 
the sagacity to forestall and stave off ; or rather, I did stave 
them oflf too long, and held on till the bottom fell clean out. 

One such overtook me near the end of the Fall term of. the 
Sophomore year. All my small monetary expedients had 
gone wrong. An incautious expenditure in furnishing my 
room (No. 2, Appleton Hall) began the trouble. Bad luck 
with two or three ventures for gain, followed on. I had 
been agent for an inexpensive sewing machine during the 
Summer vacation ; a light machine, operated by a crank ; I 
carried the sample about the country, in a valise. In Sep- 
tember, I intrusted my sample and three other machines to 
a sub-agent who was to sell them on a commission. But 

68 



WHEN THE SELE-SENDER WALKED HOME 

now — in November — I learned that he had sold the three 
machines and decamped with the proceeds, and had left my 
sample machine and valise at Yarmouth railway station. A 
small speculation, too, in stove-wood and dried apple, at the 
home farm up in Oxford county^ which I had deemed a sure 
thing, had come to naught from the accidental burning of 
the building in which it was stored. 

In brief, my whole menage had collapsed. I was bank- 
rupt. Even my steward and fellow student of the boarding- 
club was after me, with suspicion on his brow. Him I 
satisfied by leaving my Sophomore books with "Gripus," 
on an advance of six dollars. My last dollar was then in ; 
and naught remained but to foot it home via Yarmouth, to 
reclaim the "sample" sewing machine — my only available 
asset. 

Ah, what a bleak morning that was ! Bitterly cold with 
the ground hard frozen, and beginning to spit snow. Yet 
even the hard, whitening earth and cold gray heavens were 
less bleak than my financial sky. 

After a last vain effort to mortgage my half of the room 
furniture to my chum who was a crafty financier, I crossed 
the campus — not then adorned by the Art Building and 
Memorial Hall — to Gen. Chamberlain's cottage. The Gen- 
eral was then the college President pro tern ; and my object 
in calling was to obtain his permission to withdraw before 
term closed and seek the sanctuary of home. Thus the 
hard-rup fox as a last resort seeks refuge in the burrow of 
cub-hood. I had the promise of the district school, in the 
home neighborhood ; and the parental farm-house was at 
least good for a few weeks board, till new schemes could be 
hatched. 

Briefly I recounted my condition to the General's keenly 
appreciative ear, and having heard it, he made not the least 

69 



TAI^ES OF BOWDOIN 

objection to my immediate departure. He agreed with me, 
nem con, that home was the best place for me. With laugh- 
ter, but a cordial hand-shake, he wished me a pleasant walk 
tip the country and regretted the state of the weather ! 

Dear, kind old Professor Packard had noted that I was in 
trouble the day before, and had made it in his way to join 
me as I left the recitation room. Encouraged too far by his 
sympathy, I told him how I stood. But when he had 
grasped the full significance of my revelations, even his 
warm heait was chilled. In all his experience of indigent 
Sophomores, he had never met one so utterly devoid of 
resources. He acknowledged with regret that he knew not 
what to advise me. 

I have a vague faith still that "Billy," (Prof. William 
Smythe author of the Algebras and Calculus and who, col- 
lege tradition says once ciphered himself up at midnight 
from the bottom of the college well into which he had 
inadvertently fallen) might have figured it out for me, in 
terms of x. y. and z., if only I could have taken refuge in 
one of his equations ; but the old arithmetician was ill in bed 
that week, being now verv infirm, and so missed the chance 
of a lifetime to perform one final, famous feat in those 
abstruse mathematics which he loved so well and long. 
Could he have rescued m.e that morning — and I have always 
half believed he could — not far below George Washington 
himself ought he now to be sitting in Miss Helen Gould's 
new Hall of Fame. 

But no help came to me, either from the Chair of Moral 
Philosophy, Revealed Religion, or Mathematics; and but- 
toning up my old overcoat, I set off along the railroad track 
to face the snowstorm and walk to Yarmouth, thirteen miles, 
there get my abandoned sample sewing machine, and then 
walk home, forty-seven miles from Yarmouth, sixty in all, 

70 



WHEN THU SEI^F-SENDKR WALKED HOME 

It soon became hard walking on the ties, for snow was 
now falling fast; but I reached Yarmouth by noon and 
recovering my property, on which, luckily for me, there was 
no storage charge, I sat down in the station to eat a meager 
bit in the way of a lunch which, mindful of emergencies, I 
had privately conveyed to my pocket from the club break- 
fast table. Then for an hour or two I attempted to do a 
little sewing machine business in Yarmouth village. I 
hoped to sell my sample machine and thus be able to take 
the evening train home. But it wasn't a good day, for it; 
the women cut my story short, snappishly ; an "agent" of 
any sort was persona non grata that bleak afternoon. Later, 
I tried to dispose of the machine in several stores and at a 
hardware shop — quite in vain. No one would even look at 
it ; there did not seem to be a smile, nor a bit of geniality 
that day, in the whole place. 

I had staked a good deal of time on hopes of selling my 
sample machine in Yarmouth ; and now, at two of the short 
winter afternoon, found myself face to face with the neces- 
sity of reaching home that night, for I had money neither 
for food, nor lodging. 

For three or four miles I plodded along the railroad, then 
as the snow was deepening on the track, I diverged to a 
highway off to the left of the line. Here by good chance, as 
I at first thought. I was immediately overtaken by a man 
alone in a large pung, driving a fat, strong horse. He wore 
a broad-brimmed hat and blue-drab cloak, and he proved to 
be a Shaker Elder, returning from Portland to the Shaker 
village at New Gloucester. 

"Will thee ride, friend?" he asked, with grave kindness. 

"Thank thee, I will," said I, and immediately conceived 
rosy hopes of accompanying him home, spending the night 
with the Shakers, and even selling them my sewing machine. 

71 



tai,e;s of bowdoin 

I had heard that these good people do not charge wayfarers 
for a night's lodging and food. Accordingly, I set myself 
to beguile the way and amuse the Elder with lively conver- 
sation. But I must have overdone it, I think. For some 
reason which I never quite understood, the Elder suddenly 
froze to me. Possibly it was from learning that I was a 
college student. He waxed grim and became as mum as 
an oyster. I tried him further with two humorous stories ; 
but he never cracked a smile to them ; and soon after, com- 
ing where the road to the Shaker village diverged from the 
main road, he pulled up for me to get out. 

Thereupon I asked him point blank to let me go home 
with him, over-night. But "Here is where our roads sep- 
arate, friend," was all the answer he vouchsafed me. 

By this time it was dark ; and being both hungry and 
cold, I applied recklessly, at the first house I came to, for 
lodging and supper, and then at the next house and the 
next ; but the people were all inhospitably inclined. 

There were eight inches of snow by this time, the footing 
getting more difficult every hour; and I resolved to apply 
at every house till some one took me in. 

The next human habitation, however, was fully half a 
mile farther on. It stood back from the road, and I could 
see neither tracks about it, nor light within ; but I plodded 
to the door and knocked. There was no response, but I 
heard a cat mewing dolefully inside. It was a small, low 
house, with a shed and a little stable adjoining. I knocked 
again and yet again, without result ; but still the cat mewed 
on, piteously. Finally I tried the door. It stuck at the top 
but was not locked. I pushed it open and shouted, "Hullo ! 
Anybody at home?" 

All dark and still ; but T heard the patter of the cat's feet. 
I stepped in. It seemed not very cold inside, but the air 

72 



WHE;n the SEl.B'-S]ENDER WALKED HOME 

was dank and had an odor of household laxity, or senility.. 
I had a match and struck it. The outer door opened into a 
low room nearly bare of furniture, with soiled, green- 
figiired paper on the walls. There was a fire-place and 
ashes, but no spark of fire. A little blue tin match safe 
stood on the mantel shelf, also an iron candle-stick with an 
mch or two of tallow candle. In the match safe were four 
or five matches and stubs of matches. When I had lighted 
the candle, the cat came and rubbed against my legs. 

There were three doors opening out of the front room, 
one to the chamber stairs and one into a little kitchen in the 
rear. The third I could not open ; it appeared to be stuck 
fast in its casement, or else buttoned or propped on the 
other side. I knocked at it and called out again, then came 
to the conclusion that the house was one from which the 
inmates had recently moved and taken most of the furni- 
ture. The appearance of the kitchen also confirmed this 
surmise. It contained little save a rusted, much cracked 
cooking stove, choked with ashes. In one corner stood an 
empty flour barrel, having a large, white cloth spread over 
the top of it and a gummy, warped old cake-board on top 
of that. In the shed leading to the stable were chips, litter 
and a few sticks of wood. 

After several failures, I kindled a fire in the stove and 
warmed myself a little; for my feet were wet and it was 
chilling, bleak weather. Snow drove against the windows; 
and altogether the night was so bad that I determined to 
remain there till morning, if not ordered away by the pro- 
prietor. But himger was nearly as imperative with me as 
cold, and after getting the old stove warmed up, I searched 
the premises again for food stuff, going down cellar — where 
there was not so much as a frozen potato — also to the shed 
and stable, and up stairs to the low open chamber. The 

73 



TAI,^S OF BOWDOIN 

only edible that could be discovered anywhere was a little 
husk trace with five small dry ears of sweet corn, hung on 
a nail in a rafter of the chamber roof. Thus it had escaped 
the mice, though the small rodents appeared to have been 
making frantic efforts to reach it. 

Appropriating the corn trace, I went back to the kitchen 
and began parching the kernels for my supper; and I left 
the poor cat — a. little, lean Maltese tabby, with eyes the 
largest part of her — shut up in the chamber, to look for the 
mice. The cat had been tagging my every step, getting 
under foot, ever after I had entered the house. 

Dried sweet-corn kernels, when toasted, swell up to full 
size and are not very difficult of mastication. My hunger 
prompted me to roast and eat every kernel of the five ears ; 
and afterwards I thawed a handful of snow_ in a tin basin 
by way of a solvent. Altogether it was as frugal a meal as 
even a self-sender has ever made, I fancy. 

Fatigue, after my long, hard day, exposed to the cold 
wind and snow, soon asserted itself. There was one old 
basket-bottomed chair in the front room. Placing this in 
the warm.est corner, I filled the stove with the last of the 
wood, then took off my damp boots, opened the old oven 
door and thrust in my feet. Afterwards, drawing my over- 
coat about me, I leaned back with my head against the wall, 
to take things easy till morning. 

Very soon I was asleep, but voices which sounded like 
those of boys or youngsters, waked me not long after ; I also 
heard sleigh bells. A sleigh in passing appeared to have 
stopped near the house ; I heard the occupants talking low 
and snickering. Suddenly four or five tremendous blows, 
as if from an ax or club, were struck on the clapboards of 
the house near the door, and a voice shouted, "Wake up, 
Cranny! Wake up!" 

74 



WHEN THE SELF-SENDER WALKED HOME 

For the moment I imagined that the rogues had peeped in 
at the uncurtained back window of the kitchen and by the 
faint gleam from the stove had taken me for an old grand- 
sir, sitting there with my feet in the oven. Presently sev- 
eral missiles, stones it is likely, from the stone-wall near the 
road, were thrown on the roof and rolled off with a great 
clatter ; and 1 could still hear the scamps sniggering. 

By way of a counter demonstration, I caught up the big 
white cloth from the flour barrel, and wrapping it around 
myself, head and ears, stalked to the outer door which I 
threw wide open, and uttered a horrible groan ! What with 
the snow on the ground and a moon under the storm clouds, 
there was sufficient light to render objects dimly visible. 
Two of the rogues were standing in the yard near the wall ; 
and I think that they actually took mc for something spook- 
ish. One of them uttered an odd sort of exclamation. 
They beat a retreat to their sleigh and drove off. 

It was still snowing and so cold that I made haste back to 
my warm stove oven and chair. I was apprehensive lest 
the young roisterers might raise a party and return, bent on 
investigating the supernatural. My dread of that, however, 
did not prevent me from soon falling asleep again, my head 
propped in the angle of the wall, on the chair back, and my 
feet in the oven as before. 

I waked several times, I remember, but mv final nap must 
have been a long one. There was broad davlirfit when I 
roused last. Indeed, it was much later than I supposed, 
being nine or ten o'clock I am sure. The skv was still 
clouded ; but the storm had ceased. The stove and kitchen 
were cold as a tomb. I pulled myself together, washed my 
face in snow at the front door, tidied up and made ready to 
sally forth from this harbor of refuge. But I was gaunt 
from hunger and made yet another search for something 

75 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

with which to stay the sense of inner emptiness. I found a 
squash in the stable and had thoughts of attempting to bake 
it in the stove, having first cut it into shces. 

While canvassing this expedient, however, I heard a noise 
in the front room and hastily looking in, saw the door — the 
one I had found fastened — shaking, as if some one were 
removing a bar or a prop on the other side. Even while I 
stared, it opened and there issued forth a very tall and wild- 
looking old female in a long yellow bed-gown ; and it is no 
exaggeration to say, that the skin of her face and hands was 
quite as yellow as the flannel of the gown ! But her hair 
was as white as an Albino's and fully as voluminous. 
Indeed, there was a most uncamiy quantity of it. It 
frowsed out and hung down her shoulders and in front 
over her arms, quite to her waist. She had an old tin 
teapot in her hand and came directly toward the kitchen 
door where I stood, rooted and dumb with wonder as to 
how this could be! 

What was stranger, I saw that she did not seem to see 
me, though apparently looking straight at me. Her eyes 
appeared to have a mottled gray crust on them, which I 
now presume to have been cataracts. On she came and I 
backed back into the kitchen, then spoke. "Is this your 
house, marm?" I exclaimed, not knowing what else to say. 
But she paid no heed and came on, T backing away till I 
was directly between her and the little window. Then she 
stopped short, having caught sight of something against the 
light. Turning her head and strange white hair down and 
to one side, she peeped and peered at me, like a hen in the 
dark, out of the corners of her nearly sightless eyes. 

"I see ye !" she then cackled out. "I kin see ye there. 
Who be ye? Be ye Sallv Dennett's man, or be ye Bijah 
Libbev?" 

^6 



WHEN THE SEIvF-SENDER WALKED HOME 

"No, marm, I'm a stranger," I said. "I thought this 
house was empty. I came in on account of the storm." 

"Whart?" she bleated. "Be ye Bijah?" 

I repeated that I was a stranger. 

" What-a-art ?" she cried, taking a step nearer me. 

It was plain now that she was deaf also, as well as blind — 
deaf as a post. 

"Whart? Whart be ye a-sayin'?" she cried again, and 
put out one of those awful skinny, yellow hands to feel me 
over. 

Ah well, I was young then and had had no breakfast and 
not much supper; partly for that reason, perhaps, my 
stom.ach gave a sudden turn. Snatching up my valise, I 
bolted out of that house, gained the highway and deep as. 
the snow was, ran for as much as half a mile — till I felt 
better. 

It was an old beldame granny who lived there alone. 
She had been abed in that room all night, while I was 
ranging over her house and parching her trace of sweet 
corn ! The poor, deaf, blind old creature had heard nothing 
of my invasion. It was too scandalous even for a Sopho- 
more ; and I never dared tell any of the fellows about it. 

My only consolation and hold on self-respect, lay in the 
thought that I had discomfited the louts who had stopped 
there at midnight to torment her; but it is doubtful if she 
heard even the stones on the roof. 

Plodding on drearily enough for an hour or more, my 
luck took a turn for the better. A woman driving a white 
horse in a pung, set full of stone pots, overtook me ; a large, 
fleshy, comfortable- looking, middle-aged woman with three 
big brown hair moles on her lip and cheek. I suppose I 
cast a longing look at the vacant seat and warm buflfalo 

77 



tai,e;s of bowdoin 

robe ; for she pulled up after passing, looked around and 
presently asked me if I would like to ride. 

I did not keep her waiting while I considered whether I 
had another engagement, for my feet were already wet 
again. 

Remembering my ill success with the Shaker Elder, I 
determined to go easy in conversation and did not talk 
much. Besides I was cold and faint. But conversation 
did not flag ; this woman was herself a talker ; and before 
we had gone a mile I had learned that she had been to the 
''village" that morning; that she had sold a hundred and 
twenty pounds of butter; that butter was twenty-six cents 
a pound and eggs twenty cents a dozen ; and that her hens 
were laying well; also that she had told "George," her 
husband, that he was welcome to all the farm crops came 
to, if she could have the butter and eggs. 

But mox angiiis recreatus. Having gained breath and 
warmth under her comforting buffalo skin. I took thought 
and putting my best foot forward, turned the conversation 
on sewing machines — not then so hackneyed a theme for an 
agent's eloquence as now. 

Unsuspecting woman ! She little imagined how des- 
perate a man she had been warming back to hope and guile 
under that cozy robe. In twenty minutes I had sold her 
my sample machine, for seventeen dollars, delivered the 
goods and got my money ! 

By good luck, too, her homeward route took me within a 
mile of the Empire Road railway station, which I reached in 
time to take the afternoon train home. 

Once more on my native heath, I settled to pedagogy for 
ten weeks, and meantime sold eight sewing machines. So 
that in March I was able to rejoin my class, in funds again 
for the rest of the year. 

78 



TOLD AGAIN 

Arlo Bates, '76 



TOLD AGAIN 

EVERY alumnus knows the old traditional anecdotes of 
Bowdoin, but who was ever tired of hearing them 
repeated ? Told over by one class after another and by one 
generation to the next, they keep a perennial interest by 
being part of the magic time of college life ; and so I may 
be forgiven for reporting a talk in which all the stories were 
confessedly old. 

The room was what Percy, who was accustomed to jeer 
at his friend's fondness for luxury, called "a Kensington- 
stitch bower." Philip Vaughn had innumerable lady 
friends, whose lives, judging from their fruits, must be 
devoted chiefly to embroidering tidies, tobacco-pouches, 
hangings and rugs for the adornment of the bachelor's 
bower; until floor and wall bloomed out in wildly arranged 
cat-o'-nine-tails, pre-Raphaelite sun-flowers, and innumer- 
able other aesthetic devices, constructed upon the conven- 
tional plan of making them as impossible as was within the 
limits of female ingenuity to compass. 

Tonight Percy and Phil were seated in those strikingly 
sprawly attitudes dear to the masculine soul, puffing at 
fragrant pipes, and staring at the open fire, whose glow 
brought out with great effect the glories of the Kensington- 
stitch tokens. The talk somehow turned upon old times at 
Bowdoin, drifting on into anecdote and reminiscence, as 
such chats are very apt to do. 
E ' 8i 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

"You remember," Percy asked, "the time Prof. W. took 
the Senior class over into the Topsham woods botanizing, 
and the boys hired a hand-organ man to follow ? He struck 
up Mulligan Guards just as the Professor had begun a 
learned discussion on a rare something or other." 

"How the Prof, laughed," retorted Phil. "But I think 
the funniest time was the cuspidors. You were out then, 
weren't you ? Prof. C. got vexed at some of the boys' spit- 
ting, and remarked that if it was necessary for them to 
expectorate, he desired that they would bring cuspidors with 
them; and I'll be hanged if every man Jack didn't get a 
spittoon and carry it into recitation next morning! The 
way we banged them about those tiered seats in Adams Hall 
was a caution to peaceful citizens!" 

"What jolly old days those were," Percy sighed regret- 
fully. "Do you remember how often old Senex used to 
say, 'I'm having the best time of my life, but I shall never 
have to regret that I didn't know it as I went along.' That 
was a bit of philosophy I always admired." 

"What a separate world a college is," Phil said. "It 
wouldn't seem to me very funny anywhere else to hang an 
old circular saw out of my window and pound it with a junk 
bottle, but as part of my college life I laugh whenever I 
think of it. There is a different way of looking at every- 
thing inside the college campus, and I always have a secret 
sympathy for student tricks, no matter how much it is 
proper to disapprove of them from an outside standpoint." 

"Dr. C. told me a story the other day," Percy observed, 
trimming his pipe, "that pleased me a good deal. Dr. C. 
roomed on the southwest comer of Maine Hall, and had a 
very sunny place. Gray, who was just across the entry, 
came in one day with a lot of pears not quite ripe, and asked 
to leave them in C.'s windows to ripen. A few mornings 

82 



TOLD AGAIN 

after, Professor Packard called on C. to ask somethingf 
about a library book. After he had done his errand the old 
gentleman walked up to the window and beg-an to examine 
the fruit. 'Very fine pears,' he said, 'it is a variety rare 
about here, too.' 'They look first rate,' Doc. answered, 
'though I've not tasted them yet.' 'You'll find them very 
good, I assure you,' Father Packard observed blandly, as 
he moved toward the door. 'Very good indeed. I took 
great pains with that graft ! Good day.' And poor C. 
never had a chance to explain that he wasn't the man who 
purloined them !" 

"Pretty good!" laughed Phil. "It wouldn't have made 
any difference, though, if he had denied comnlicity, I sup- 
pose. Circumstantial evidence is too much for most any 
of us. There is a fine story of Prex. Woods, that a clergy- 
man in Maine told me. You know the President's sym- 
pathies were notoriously with the South in the war, and the 
boys were not slow to comment on it. One morning when 
Prex. came in to prayers he was astonished — or at least I 
fancy he must have been — to find every man Jack of the 
fellows in his place, and all as quiet as stone griflSns. He 
took his chair as usual, and he must have felt a cold chill 
run down his back from the way in which everybody looked 
at him." 

"He'd feel that," interrupted Percy, "from the Chapel. It 
is always colder than the tombs." 

"He was no sooner seated," resumed the other, "than his 
eye caught a great sign stretched across the front of the 
organ-loft on the opposite end of the Chapel, with the words 
Tray for the; country^ in letters a yard high. He read 
the Scripture as usual, and then started in on the prayer 
amid an awful stillness such as never was experienced at 
college prayers before or since. He got along to the phrases. 

83 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

with which he was accustomed to close, and not a word 
about the country. Then there was a sort of dull murmur 
among the boys. Nobody made any noise in particular, you 
know, but there was a kind of stir. The president didn't 
dare hold out any longer, for the pressure of that body of 
boys, with all the moral sentiment of the country behind 
them, was too tremendous for even his will ; he gave in and 
prayed for the country with the utmost fervor!" 

"He must have been sincere!" Percy commented. 
"There's a Bowdoin hazing story which always pleased me 
immensely. One day a knot of fellows in the room of X., 
a gallant Sophomore, were discussing hazing. 'I tell you,' 
X. said, with emphasis, 'the PVeshies like the fun as well 
as we do. It's part of college life. Why, I'd be ducked 
myself for ten cents !' 'Here's your ten cents,' returned E., 
a brawny Junior — you must have seen him. Phil, he was in 
»'6y — he was famous for his will and his muscle. 'Now I 
propose to duck you !' Remonstrance was vain, and as E. 
was big enough to annihilate X. had he chosen, there was 
nothing for the unhappy Soph, but to submit, obtaining 
only the privilege of being allowed to don old clothes. 
Thus equipped, X. took his seat outside his room door, 
surrounded by a circle of grinning friends, and E. procured 
a pail of water. Do you know, instead of making one 
grand dash of the ducking, and letting X. off with that, 
that merciless E., who had certain old scores to settle, pro- 
ceeded to dribble the cold water over his victim by the 
dipperful. Now he would playfully trickle a small stream 
down the sufferer's back, then dash a pint full in his face; 
again a little cascade would pour upon the Sophomore's 
head, or an icy streamlet meander down his manly bosom. 
E. pitilessly held X. to his agreement, and, as he threw the 
last drop of water into his eves, poor X., drenched and 

84 



TOLD AGAIN 

reclrenched, sprang away with a string of oaths so hot they 
might have dried him ; but it was never noticed that he was 
anxious to discuss hazing again. By George ! I'd have 
Hked to see the performance." 

"These things are no end funny," Phil said, poking the 
fire. "I don't know whether they are so to folks outside 
the ring, but the whole college feeling comes up to me with 
them. Don't you remember the day we '76 boys were 
reciting in International Law to Prof. Caziarc, and old H. 
distinguished himself so? Unluckily, this wasn't one of the 
days when H. was prepared, and, as he neglected to read 
ahead in the class, his answ^ers were of the wildest. 'How 
long,' asked the Professor, 'does a ship remain liable to 
seizure after violating a blockade ?' H. gazed at the ceiling, 
rubbing his chin and changing legs in his inimitable way, 
but no happy evasion occurred to him. A fellow behind 
him was prompting in frantic whispers, and at length suc- 
ceeded in attracting H.'s attention. Old H. was so intent 
on the ceiling, though, that to do this the prompter had to 
speak so loudly as to be heard over the whole room. Of 
course everybody laughed in concert, but no line softened 
in the grave countenance of H. Taking in the situation in a 
twinkling, he drawled out, with perfect composure: 'I am 
told that it is six months !' How the boys applauded !" 

"There's a good recitation story they tell of Prof. Chad- 
bourn," Percy said, taking up the ball in his turn, "though 
the truth I don't vouch for. They say that he began a 
recitation in Natural History by asking the first man in the 
class if he'd ever seen a porpoise. 'No, sir,' was the 
answer, as prompt as you please. 'The next,' says the Prof., 
and the next said 'No,' too. And so they went down the 
class, Chadbourn of course forgetting all about what the 
question was, before he got half throvigh the row. 'Very 

85 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

well, gentlemen,' he remarked in his most magisterial man- 
ner, as the last man added his negative to the rest, 'you 
may take this lesson again tomorrow and I hope to find you 
better prepared !' Another story of him is that he asked 
once if anybody in the class had ever seen a frog in the 
water. The boys all said no till it came to G., who remarked 
that he had seen a frog in the water. 'Good.' the Prof, said, 
■I am glad there is one man here who is an observer. Now 
will you tell us, Mr. G., under what circumstances you saw 
the frog in. the v/ater and what he was doing.' 'Oh,' 
answered G. brightly, 'I put him in, and he was trying to 
get out !' " 

"Then there was S., in '75," went on Vaughn. "Prof. 
Carmichael was talking of the difficulty of determining the 
direction from which a sound comes. 'For instance,' he 
said to S., who was reciting, 'if you are in the depot and 
hear a whistle you cannot tell whether it is the Bath train 
coming from one direction or the Lewiston train from 
the other.' 'Oh, yes, I can,' S. answered. 'I can always tell 
the direction by the sound, for the Lewiston train whistles 
twice!' And you remember P.'s answering the question as 
to the kind of weather in which we have thunder-showers, 
by saying, 'In stormy weather'?" 

"Some of the Bowdoin boys did a couple of droll things 
the year after we graduated," Phil said. "The eternal war 
between Fresh, and Soph, was raging with great violence, 
and there was no end of sharp-shooting on both sides. I 
fancy the Freshies v/ere the smarter from the two stories I 
heard. One night they were laying out for a 'peanut- 
drunk' — is there anything funnier in college nomenclature 
than calling a gorge on that arid fruit a 'drunk' ? — and they 
were told that the Sophs, had found it out and meant to 
stop it. They went on with their plan, though, and to the 

86 



TOLD AGAIN 

usual bushel or so of peanuts they added a can of cider. 
Of course wheii their enemies interrupted the innocent fes- 
tivities, they bore away peanuts and cider, upon which they 
feasted in high glee. Fancy the feelings of those wicked 
and wretched Sophs, when, on draining the can of its last 
glass of cider, five drowned mice dropped imo the glass!" 

"By Jove ! That was tremendous !" cried Percy. "I 
wonder a Freshman v/as left alive to tell the tale!" 

"I fancy they weren't very cheeky for a day or two," 
returned the other. "But their second trick was worse yet. 
The Sophs, became possessed of a pair of plump chickens." 

" 'Became possessed' is a good phrase," interrupted 
Percy. "I've become possessed of chickens on the Harps- 
well road myself! 'Convey,' the wise call it. Go ahead." 

"I knew I was touching you in a tender spot," continued 
the narrator. "Having the chickens, they took them down 
town to that disreputable Tim Ponson, who used to cook 
your fowls for you, to have them roasted. Certain choice 
spirits — both on two legs and in black bottles — were brought 
together for the feast, which Tim had promised should be 
ready by nine o'clock in the evening. But a few audacious 
Freshmen, Billy M. and Tom Winter among them, in some 
unexplained way got hold of a knowledge of the Sopho- 
moric plans, and at half-past eight presented themselves at 
Ponson's door. 'Hallo, Tim,' says Winter briskly, 'are 
those chickens ready?' Tim looked a little astonished, but 
Billy broke in and explained that S., who had delivered the 
birds to the cook, had sent after them. 'Hurry up,' Winter 
went on. 'The fellers have got dreadful tired of waiting 
now.' So old Tim bestowed the chickens, smoking hot, in 
a basket. 'Will yer take the plates and the taters, too?' he 
asked. But having secured the chickens the boys were not 
inclined to wait, so they told him to follow with the other 

87 



TALKS Olf BOWDOIN 

things, and off they scud with their booty. Saucy knaves ! 
Perhaps the Freshmen did not have a howl over those birds ! 
And perhaps the Sophs were pleased at the trick! But 
wasn't it clever?" 

"Capital ! I only know one thing which would have been 
better, and that was the thing some of the '75 bovs didn't do 
to Prof. Z. You know what a little, wizened, dried-up 
man he was, and how cordially everybody disliked him. 
The one year he v;as at Bowdoin he made more enemies 
than he could unmake in a Hfetime. Well. X. and Y., '75 
boys, got mto the Church on the Hill one Saturday night, 
when Prof. Z. was to preach on Sunday. They planned to 
cut a trap-door behind the pulpit, with a spring to be worked 
by a cord going under the carpet to the students' seats. 
They meant to pull the door out from under him about the 
time he got started in the long prayer, and let him down out 
of sight ! Unfortunately, the sexton came in, and they had 
to give the thing up !" 

"Unfortunately! you say?" Phil said, laughing. "That 
shows where your sympathies are !" 

"They are always v/ith the boys in private," Percy 
retorted. "In public I have to disapprove of anything of 
this sort as improper; indeed, as extremely improper!" 

The two friends laughed, and smoked for a few minutes 
in genial silence. Then Percy went on again, for when once 
college days are recalled there is not soon an end to the 
flood of reminiscence. 

"I met Dr. B. the other day," he said, "and he told me 
som.e droll stories about Professor Cleveland. I dare say 
they are not more than half true, but even that is a very 
good portion of verity for this wicked world. Professor 
Cleveland, it seems, was excessively afraid of lightning. 

88 



TOLD AGAIN 

His researches into natural phenomena ^ave him such an 
impression of the immense power of the electric force as 
almost to overcome his courage. The story goes that he 
had in his cellar an insulated stool, upon which he was 
accustomed to sit cross-legged like a Turk during every 
thunder-storm. Once a strong-minded female who was vis- 
iting his house felt called upon to remonstrate with him 
upon his fears. So she made her way down cellar, and 
began to upbraid him for his tim.idity. He made no reply, 
only he drew his legs a little more closelv under him as a 
terrific peal of thunder shook the house, and his visitor 
became more and more voluble. 'I'm ashamed of you,' she 
snapped out at last, 'any fool knows enough not to be scared 
by a thunder-shower!' 'Yes,' the old gentleman returned, 
drily, 'there are only a few of us who know enough to be 
frightened.' " 

"A great moral truth," Phil commented. "Isn't there 
some sort of a yarn about Professor Cleveland and an elec- 
tric battery?" 

"Yes; they say he was showing his bie battery to the 
class, on-? day, when he remarked : 'Gentlemen, quiet as this 
instrument seems, there is energy enough stored up here to 
cause the instant death of a man. One touch of the finger 
to that knob would instantly kill an able-bodied man.*^ 
Then, turning to his assistant, the Professor beamed benevo- 
lently upon him through his spectacles, absent-mindedly and 
cheerfully saying, 'Mr. Dunning, touch the knob.' " 

"The best story of Cleveland I ever heard," Phil said,, 
"was of a rebuke he gave to a noisy class. It was about the 
time of Brooks' villainous assault upon Charles Sumner in 
the Senate Chamber, and of course the country was full of 
talk about that scandal. Professor Cleveland was late to 



tale;s of bowdoin 

lecture one day, and as the class got into a very riotous state 
while waiting for him, he had some ado to quell it when he 
came in. He was a good deal nettled and administered a 
most scathing rebuke, ending with the words, delivered in 
so impressive a manner that more than one of his hearers 
speak of it to this day : 'Gentlemen, in future let such 
brawls be confined to Congress, and do not disgrace with 
them these halls consecrated to science and culture.' " 

"No doubt!" his friend laughed. "But there's another 
story of Professor Cleveland that comes to my mind in this 
connection, chiefly because no earthly connection exists 
between the two. It seems that he went to church but once 
on Sunday, it being vaguely suspected that the remainder 
of his day was spent in unholy toil in his laboratory. A 
committee of the Faculty was at last sent to remonstrate 
with the old gentleman, and in the most delicate and politic 
way they laid the case before him, dwelling upon the evil 
influence of his course, the injury to him and to the cause 
of religion, ending with a declaration that there could be no 
good reason why the Professor should not attend church. 
^Gentlemen,' the culprit said, drawing himself up in the 
haughtiest manner, 'Professor Cleveland goes to church but 
once on Sunday, and that is reason enough.' And the com- 
mittee retired in confusion." 

"There's a delightful quality of self-poise shown in that 
story," observed Percy. "Another phase of the feeling was 
shown by our friend Fall. A military instructor at Bow- 
doin was very fond of using military terms, and the boys 
naturally guyed him for it. One day he said to Fall, who 
was cutting up in recitation, 'Fall, you may go to your 
quarters.' 'Sir,' answered Fall, saucily but serenely, 'I 
haven't any quarters to go to.' 'No quarters?' demanded 
the instructor, 'what do you mean?' 'I'm expecting a 

90 



TOLD AGAIN 

remittance every day,' Fall said coolly, 'but now I haven't 
any quar — ' 'Sir,' interrupted the other, 'leave the section 
room instantly !' " 

"Impertinent whelp!" Phil said. "Jamie Charles was on 
the whole the coolest specimen we had in our class. I shall 
never forget the malicious impudence with which he fum- 
bled and fussed with a loose leaf of his German book, at last 
dropping it and then cramming it into his pocket with an 
affectation of the greatest confusion, so that Professor M. 
had no choice but to call him up and ask for that transla- 
tion, only to find that he'd been gulled." 

"The time that Professor M. had his revenge," Percy 
returned, "was when Jamie, with a big fish hook and the 
greatest patience, angled for the Professor's shutters from 
the attic window. It took him half the afternoon, and just 
as he was hauling up the last blind, the Professor, who was 
supposed to be down town, put his head out of the window, 
and mildly but firmly insisted upon Charles putting the 
shutters back; in which pleasant but laborious occupation 
my young Sophomore spent the rest of the afternoon, not 
without some jeering on the part of the boys." 

"Do you remember," asked Phil, "the fuss we had with 
Mr. X., whose ministrations at the Church on the Hill used 
to bore the boys so? He was the man that said in a sermon 
that the temperance crusade had been so effective as to lower 
the price of whiskey several cents on the gallon." 

"I remember that day," Percy put in. "We all applauded 
and got summoned the next morning for disturbance in 
church." 

"The best joke \vas about the proposed removal of the 
students from the church. The fuss I spoke of came from 
Brother X. going to a ministers' meeting or a conference or 
something else, and berating the college as a nest of infi- 

91 



TAI,ES OF BOWDOIN 

deiity because he had not been appointed Professor of Moral 
Science. So it was proposed that the students should be 
taken to the college Chapel for service and the church left to 
itself. While the matter was being discussed in Faculty 
meeting — or as the story goes — Professor Z. suggested that 
another of the Faculty, who is a clergyman, should first 
preach a farewell sermon to the people of the Church on the 
Hill. And what do you think was to be the text?" 

"I give it up," Percy said. "It is too near morning to 
guess conundrums, and especially scriptural ones," 

"It was to have close reference to their staying behind 
with X. ; It was to be 'Tarry thou here with the ass while 
I and the lads go up yonder to worship !' " 



THE HAZING OF STUMPY BLAIR 

Fred Raymond Marsh. '99 



THE HAZING Or STUMPY BLAIR 

<(C TUMPY" Blair was a Freshman, not so much because 
<3 it was his first year in college, though as every one 
will admit, that was reason enough, but because of a certain 
circumstantial evidence that characterized all his actions. 
For instance, he seemed instinctively to keep his "weather 
eye," as it were, open on the balmiest of Autumn days. He 
v^as constant in his attendance at gymnasium in all his spare 
hours, and had been heard to express great pleasure at the 
prospect of a class in Indian clubs for the Freshmen during 
the Winter term. It was even rumored that he sat up till 
the early hours of morning, burning the electric fluid that 
feebly oozed through his sixteen candle-power light and 
preparing his Mathematics for the coming day. Of course 
only Freshmen do all these things and it follows that 
"Stumpy" Blair was unmistakably a Freshman. 

But "Stumpy" Blair had many excellent qualities to offset 
the misfortune of his class standing. He was a good- 
hearted fellow, could play the piano to perfection and was 
immensely popular in the college. He was also as large 
physically as he was inexhaustible in his unruffled good 
nature. He was nearly six feet tall, broad shouldered, 
straight as an arrow, and that is why everybody in Bowdoin 
called him "Stumpy" Blair. 

It is an unwritten law that every Freshman owes the 
college a living, in the sense of lending a mild excitement 
to the dull routine of study by the mistakes he naturally 

95 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

makes in his new surroundings. This law "Stumpy" Blair 
persistently and even arrogantly disregarded. He declared 
that he enjoyed nothing better than tobacco smoke when a 
dozen red-eyed upoer classmen left his room after a social 
call one evening. He was even caught one night before 
retiring in the very act of taking his hair brushes from 
between the sheets of his bed, where they had been surrep- 
titiously placed by unknown persons. Any well-brought-up 
Freshman would have crept to bed and set up a yell of 
astonishment as the stiff bristles raked his shins, just for the 
benefit of those who might have been listening near. But 
^'Stumpy" Blair was not that kind. He was by far too 
precocious. He could not understand that there is an 
infancy in college life as well as in real life, as well as 
in business life. He desired to assume the dignity and 
prerogative of a Senior while yet a child. Of course the 
result was a curious combination. His case took an original 
form and it demanded original treatment. 

There are some, to be sure, who would denounce the fact 
that there was need of any treatment at all, unless it should 
be with others outside the Freshman class. However that 
may be, those who have been in college themselves, or better 
still have taught in the district schools, cannot class pure 
mischief as a missing link in the human character. When 
a number of healthy animals are put together there are sure 
to be pranks and mischief, generally if not always untainted 
by any malice in the colleges of the present time. This, 
however, is not a defence of what happened; it is merely 
the reason why something had to be done in the case of 
^'Stumpy" Blair. 

A solemn meeting of which no records were kept, was 
held b}'^ a number of upper classmen whose names are not 
recorded in the Jurv's Book of Illustrious Dead and who 

96 



THE HAZING OF STUMPY BLAIR 

felt on their shoulders the responsibility of upholding the 
unwritten law. Several days after this meeting: "Stumpy" 
Blair felt, rather than smelled, a powerful odor on entering 
his room after his Math, recitation. The place was a veri- 
table Inferno with the taint of rotten eggs. In Physics we 
are taught that ether is considered to be an impalpable 
and all-pervading jelly through which the particles of 
ordinary matter move freely. It was such a substance that 
"vStnmpy" Blair seemed to encounter as he entered his room, 
though it affected his sense of smell and taste alike. It was 
certainly original treatment. 

Of course the news of "Stumpy" Blair's discovery was 
soon known and he had no dearth of sympathizers — outside 
his door. Various expedients were suggested. One fellow 
was so cruel as to suggest that "Stumpy" count his 
chickens after they were hatched. The common belief, 
which "Stumpy" Blair himself held, was that a rat, or rather 
a colony of rats, had died somewhere in the room, and hence 
the odor. How to find the rats was the problem. 

"Stumpy" Blair was determined they should be found 
and his friends encouraged him in his efforts. First he 
made a careful survey of the premises to see if he could 
locate the place, but the odor was as strone by the window 
as by the closet door; it was an "all-pervading" odor — the 
stench of decay. Resolved to find the pest, "Stumpy" Blair 
took each piece of furniture, carefully examined it and car- 
ried it out in the hall. The room was bare but the smell 
was still present. Undaunted, he finally took down the 
pictures and there, hanging to the cord of one, he found a 
small, uncorked vial. The vial was about half full of an 
innocent looking fluid. The label read : "H^ S. Keep 
tightly corked," with a death's head underneath. 
F 97 



TALE;S 01? BOWDOIN 

"Stumpy'' Blair drew a sigh of relief as he examined it 
closely. He fitted a cork tightly in the vial, immersed it in 
a bottle of his strongest cologne and labelled it "Freshman 
Year." Several days later President Hyde received an 
anonymous letter with the polite request that Chemistry be 
placed on the elective course for Freshmen. That was the 
end of the hazing of "Stumpy" Blair. 



THE MAY TRAINING 

Thomas B. RttD, '60 



THE MAY TRAINING 

IN the archives of Bowdoin College, — meaning by 
archives, in this case, the garret of Maine Hall, — 
was long to be seen an old and faded flag. On a ground of 
white, was a bristling swine, done in dubious brown. Astride 
this fierce animal, holding on by the ears, was a full-uni- 
formed military officer. Above his head was the awful 
inscription, "Bowdoin's First Heat." Thereby hangs a tale. 
Deeming that the history of Maine would be incomplete 
without the recital, we venture at our peril to take up this 
story of demi-gods and heroes. 

As early as 1820, the students were annually warned to 
"appear armed and equipped as the law directs." Accord- 
ingly, being incorporated into the town company, they 
occasionally improved the good nature of the inhabitants by 
choosing under their astonished noses, students as chief 
officers. Besides this, they indulged, sav excellent old 
ladies with suitable unction, in other "highly unbecoming 
and indecorous tricks." It is credible also, judging what 
is past by what is present, that there was no lack of practical 
jokes. At last, it being rather too much for the towns- 
people to endure, the Legislature passed a bill exempting 
students from military duty. Then did peace, like the dews 
of evening, settle once more upon Brunswick. Its citizens 
rejoiced in warlike dignities. They became Corporals and 
Lievitenants and Captains, and were happy. Unconscious 

lOI 



TAIvES 0^ BOWDOIN 

mnocence! Little they knew the future and the bellying 
cloud of disaster above. But the military spirit was on the 
increase throughout the State. Valorous individuals talked 
of slaughter, and of glory won on tented field. "Our people 
must become citizen-soldiery. It is the onlv safety for a 
free people ; the only bulwark of our free institutions." And 
the valorous individuals went on, as ever, conquering and to 
conquer. As the result of all this, in 1836 it seemed good 
to the Legislature of Maine to pass a law requiring students 
to train. It seemed good to them, also, to make sarcastic 
remarks indicative of contempt, which was not wise. This 
act, contrary to custom, went into effect soon after it was 
passed. Of course there was commotion in college. Stump 
oratory was rampant. Every man with gift of language 
and ability to collect together six others, gave vent to senti- 
ment of rebellion in firm and determined tones, and backed 
them by irrefutable arguments. But it is a singular fact, 
that even irrefutable arguments do not always hold sway in 
this world, nor prevent warrants from coming. Every stu- 
dent was summoned ; sick or well, present or absent, it made 
no difference. For the selectmen were efficient and deter- 
mined to sacrifice all things to duty — having an eye likewise 
to the fines. The collegians, finding that stump oratory 
came to little, held a meeting, heard speeches, passed resolu- 
tions of a complimentary nature, and determined to train. 
From that time it seemed as if college had become a barrack. 
"Forward March," "Right and Left Oblique," were the only 
sounds to be heard. At dinner, instead of peaceful request 
to pass the potatoes, rang the warlike command to march 
down that detachment of beef-steak, or order out that 
platoon of potatoes, or squadron of pie. Meantime, active 
preparation went on behind the scenes. Onlv sometimes, by 
glancing at the windows, you might see "hideous forms 

102 



the; may training 

shrinking from sight," and fancy college had turned menag- 
erie, and all the animals got loose. 

At length came on the eventful day. The roll of war- 
drums and roar of artillery heralded and ushered in the 
dawn. The rays of the rising sun slanted across the baleful 
banners flung from the peaceful Halls of Learning. The 
village spire, forgetting to point heavenward, draped its 
summit in the folds of a fearful flag, on which you might 
have read the soul-inspiring, foe-disheartening "be^llum." 
The sun reached the zenith. From all quarters the motley 
crowd poured into the college grounds. Every man was a 
master-piece. The ingenuity of weeks had not been put 
forth in vain. Some glowered in painted faces. Masks 
transformed some into fantastic demons. Gorgeous whis- 
kers, putting to shame all the music teachers for miles 
around, bristled on the cheeks of the 'mailed minions' of 
war. Through huge goggles leered the mocking images 
of old age, and around sides shaking with laughter were tied 
melancholy badges of despair. The head gear was equally 
varied. Broad brimmed beavers, smart cocked hats, hats of 
every size, shape and fashion, from a clown's bag to a gen- 
eral's chapeau, topped heads brimming with wisdom. 
Plumes of all styles, of old rope feathers, brooms and 
brushes, waved from tin caps and chapeaux de bras. One 
Peucinian, worthy even of later time, mounted a helmet of 
bark from which floated down the majestic pine bough, — 
"phios loquentes semper." For arms they bore claymores 
and cimeters, iron or wooden, rusty guns rendered trust- 
worthy by padlocks, handspikes, poleaxes, scythes, brooms, 
bayonets, spears, case-knives, and saws. And had the Cal- 
culus been born into the world, that ""sublime instrument" 
would have adorned every hand. As for body equipments, 
every battle-field from Bannockburn to Queenstown seemed 

103 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

to have stripped its dead and furnished its share. No eye 
ever before beheld such motley groups. All the nations and 
tribes, from Lapland to Australia, were mimicked and 
caricatured to perfection. Thus the crowd stood, each con- 
vulsed with laughter at the comical costume of the other. 
And thus equipped, they were marshaled in order of classes, 
the Pandean and Pandowdy musical bands marching in the 
van, beneath a flag inscribed "The De'il cam' fiddlin' 
through the Town." The medical class followed with a 
banner bearing an armed skeleton surrounded by, the motto, 
"Magna est medicina et prevalehit." The Seniors and 
Juniors carried the flag w-e have already described. The 
Sophomores were cheered on by the goddess of Victory and 
Death, with the mo:to "Duke et decorum pro patria mori" 
and the Freshmen by a jackass rampant, and beneath him, 
"The Sage ass, what made the law." 

Then commenced the march. Slowly swelled the solemn 
strains from the Pandean and Pandowdy. Standards waved 
and horns blew most melodiously. Welcome worthy the 
noble commander, who appeared just then to pluck the 
fadeless laurels of that fadeless day. He merits particular 
description, says the ancient chronicler, and so, having 
materials, we describe him. On his head was a diminutive 
hat. Over his shoulders drooped the "waving folds" of an 
ox-tail plume. Wooden goggles bestrode his nose. Behind 
his back clattered an old hat, a canteen, a tin-kettle, a cigar 
box, and Heaven knows what else. His horse was a strange 
animal, "compound of horse and jackass." Price eight dol- 
lars, as was afterwards discovered, for he died on the field 
of glory. 

Receiving with shouts of applause their hero, who bowed 
to the very verge of equilibrium, the troops marched down 
Maine street, crossed into Back Stand, and proceeded to the 

104 



THE MAY TRAINING 

place of training behind the Bank, where now a row of quiet 
cottages, each one just like the other, peacefully rear their 
roofs, — their commander amusing them meantime with com- 
ical remarks, pleasant no doubt then, but unappreciable at 
this present day. Arrived on the grounds, the deep-mouthed 
cannon thundered them salute. They were then drawn up 
before their captain to listen to the roll-call. "Attend," 
commanded he, "and answer to your names." The whole 
troop thronged round the affrighted officer. "One at a 
time" trembled he in terror-stricken tones. The clerk called 
the first name. "Here!" "Here!" shouted all the posse in 
a breath. Next name. "Here!" "Here!" from all again. 
The Colonel as before makes a few jocose remarks which 
cannot be smiled at now. At last, order was restored and 
the roll-call went on. Then began the examination of 
equipments. They stepped forward, one by one. "Mark 
him down — no equipments," shouted the captain, grown 
quite valorous now, finding no personal injury intended. 
The spectators nearly split their sides, while rage was filling 
the hardened bosom of the man of war. But what could he 
do, when his officers were "grinning around him like bears 
at bay?" This ended, they were ordered to form a line. 
"We've formed a line, but we can't keep it," mourned the 
valiant defenders of their country. "Form a line, or march 
oft" the field," roared the despairing and discomfited captain, 
biting his lips. 

Loudly swelled the strains of triumph from Pandean and 
Pandowdy. Wreathed with earliest victory and laureled 
with latest renown, the conquerors left the field, their swords 
unsheathed, their guns unfired, but their souls lifted heaven- 
ward by the glowing consciousness of battle done for truth 
and right. So they marched on, through the verdant streets 

105 



tai,e;s of bowdoin 

of Brunswick, and the shaded lanes of Topsha'm, until they 
reached the college grounds. There, as everywhere, noble 
tongues were burning to eulogize noble deeds. 

"Fellow-students and Soldiers," began the orator, whose 
speech has come down to our day, "Fellow-Students and 
Soldiers, you have earned for yourself and your country, 
never-fading laurels. When dangers and perils thickened 
around your devoted country, when her hardy yeomanry 
were no longer able to defend her soil and her liberties, you 
have nobly stepped forth to her rescue. You have doffed 
your Students' gowns and assumed the mailed dress of war. 
You have exchanged the badges of literary distinction for 
the toils and dangers of the battle-field. You have extin- 
guished the midnight lamp and lit in its place the fiery torch 
of Mars. If you have followed Minerva in the flowery 
paths of literature; if you have toiled with her up the rugged 
steps of science ; you have also followed her in the ranks of 
v/ar and glory. If you have twined about your brows the 
prizes of poetic distinction, you have also encircled your 
temples with the wreaths of military glory. Yes, Fellow- 
Students ! side by side we have followed in the career of 
literary fame, and shoulder to shoulder will we advance in 
the cause of liberty, law, and our country. 

"Soldiers, you have deserved well of your country, and 
think not but that she will fully discharge the debt. Stu- 
dents and Soldiers, let this be our motto — "War and 
Science, Military Glory and Literary Distinction, Now and 
Forever, ON15 and inseparabi^e." 

Thus we have endeavored to collect and preserve what- 
ever might be valuable of a scene and action which still 
lingers in dim. tradition about the college walls. Of its 
consequences, it suffices to say, that it was the prime cause 

106 



THE MAY TRAINING 

of that Utter contempt into which gfeneral musters soon sank 
within the bounds of Maine. As to its immediate effects, 
no pen can do it justice; for no pen can brings back the 
quaint antics of the actors, the jolly laug-hter of staid pro- 
fessors, or fill again the windows with the giggling groups, 
or line the sidewalks with the grinning sovereigns. 



LOST: LOVE'S LABOR 

Webb Donnell, '85 



LOST: LOVE'S LABOP 

THE Freshman class had been unfortunate. On the 
diamond, the gridiron and in the tug: o' war, lacking 
as it did the united action that comes of long association and 
practice, it had fallen an easy, victim to the doughty Sopho- 
more class. In consequence, naturally, the Freshies to a 
man felt sore and vindictive. 

Even worse was to follow. On All Fools' Day the 
Sophomores prepared a most stupendous hoax for the lower 
classmen, who with the buoyant step of childhood walked 
plump into it, and became forthwith the laughing stock of 
college, town and State itself. The wounds inflicted by the 
unfortunate class contests were as nothing to the gaping 
rents torn in the poor Freshies' feelings by this latest 
adversity. 

Such was the state of things when rumors began to circu- 
late that the Bugle, that lagging annual of the students, was 
getting ready to be born. The Freshmen, in the light of 
past experience, began to suffer qualms. Disaster was in 
the air. And presently premonitions became actualities, for 
definite rumors went the rounds that a most scathing, most 
harrowing cartoon, based on the All Fools' Day episode, 
was already in preparation for the year-book, as the jubilant 
Sophs' contribution to the "grinds" that publication was 
wont to contain. 

A Bowdoin graduate of the year before had recently 
obtained a position on one of the great New York dailies 
and formed a delightful friendship with the paper's most 

III 



TAIvSS OF BOWDOIN 

illustrious cartoonist. This artist had an enviable repute for 
his keen political "take-offs" and more than one public man 
had writhed under the sting of his sharp-toothed sarcasm, 
Nast's power in the days of Tweed was small compared with 
the wide reach of this man's influence. Now, it would 
seem, it was the turn of the Bowdoin Freshmen to writhe. 
And how they did it ! 

The aid of the Bowdoin man in New York had been 
solicited by the Sophomores, and he had induced the great 
cartoonist to exert his skill upon the All Fool's incident. 
The consideration which the Bowdoin man had mentioned 
as usual for such work had, to be sure, drained the class 
treasury to its dregs, but it was worth the money. The 
knowledge of this great deal had been jealously guarded by 
the Sophomores to give keener zest to the grand finale of its 
discovery between the covers of the Bugle. But, alas ! one 
irrepressible vSoph had not been able to withstand the strain. 
He had gleefully whispered the secret to a young lady down 
town, and she in turn had imparted it under ban of awful 
penalty if revealed, to her particular friend. As this latter 
young lady had a brother in the Freshman class, — lo, the 
pipe-line of information was laid ! 

One day, a little later, Mathewson of the Freshman class 
blustered into the corner room on the ground floor of old 
Appleton. 

'"Tucker," he fumed, "that cartoon's come! It's in 
Ware's room in Winthrop — yes, sir. There's been a steady 
stream of Sophs going in and out all the morning, and 
every man Jack of 'em's grinning and hugging himself — 
confound him ! — when he comes out." 

"Hold on ! Where'd you get so chockful of informa- 
tion ?" demanded Tucker, whirling round on his pivot-chair, 
"Get your breath, man, and then sail in." 

112 



LOST : LOVE S LABOR 

"Oh, it's straight goods, all right. That beastly cartoon 
is up there just as I say, and I'd give my year's allowance to 
get my hands on it I If you don't believe me. look out the 
window, will you ? There comes Chippie Pike on a bee line 
from Winthrop.— Well?" 

"I'm satisfied," groaned Tucker, "It's writ large on his 
face, confound his impudence! The jig's up, Mathew." 

"No, sir!'' roared Mathewson. "I won't have it up! I 
tell you we've got to save the class — be Joan of Arcs — er — 
that is—" 

"Oh, that's all right. Don't hunt up anybody else. We 
couldn't improve on the old girl," rejoined Tucker drily. 

The conversation was stopped here by the arrival of reci- 
tation hour. It is safe to say that neither young gentleman 
made any material advancement in the knowledge of Greek 
versification that day, though Mathewson distinguished 
himself by locating the Acropolis on the third floor of Win- 
throp Hall. His mind was busy with ways and means for 
getting possession of the obnoxious cartoon in Ware's room. 
The discomfiture of his class must be warded off by fair 
means or foul. It was not a time for nice discriminations. 

When the recitation ended, he turned oft* bv himself and 
sauntered by the rear of Winthrop, locating Ware's room by 
a rapid glance. He noted with grim satisfaction a circum- 
stance that had escaped him heretofore, that an iron water 
pipe ran near the window. Ware, he knew, roomed alone. 
Now, if he would only take it into his head to be away that 
evening ! 

In the course of some quiet investigation during the after- 
noon, Mathewson ascertained that Ware belonged to a 
Sophomore Whist Club which met two evenings a week in 
a room in Appleton. The next meeting was on the night 
following. Delay seemed hazardous since at any time the 
G 113 



TALES 01' BOWDOIN 

cut might be posted away to the engravers. Yet there 
would appear to be nothing for it but to wait. That, in the 
eye of the law, the abstraction of property from another's 
premises would be regarded as "breaking and entering," 
did not escape Mathewson's observation, but his feelings 
were roused to such a pitch that nothing- short of hanging 
would have deterred him from the attempt to save his class. 
He would, of course, say nothing to Tucker — better take the 
risk alone. 

At nine o'clock the next evening Mathewson slipped 
gently over to Winthrop, congratulating himself that the 
moon was hidden behind dense clouds and that nearly all 
the windows in the End were unlighted. He stole around 
to the rear of the building and, after making sure that 
Ware's window, too, was dark, went up the iron pipe, hand 
over hand, with the ease of an athlete. The window on the 
third floor had been left open, as the weather was mild. 
There was nothing to impede Mathewson's entrance. 
Burglarwise, he had come supplied with a dark lantern, 
though the professional article is not usually improvised 
from a pasteboard box and a w^ax candle. 

The amateur "grafter" slid noiselessly through the win- 
dow and dropped to the floor within. Moving- softly to the 
opposite side of the room that he might light his candle as 
far out of window-range as possible, he pulled out of his 
pocket the lantern and matches. It was just at this instant 
that the door of the sleeping room swung open and a figure 
barely outlined in the darkness glided forth. 

Mathewson held his breath in the horror of the situation. 
His heart suspended its beats, then began raining sledge- 
hammer blows against his ribs. In a flash he realized just 
what had happened. Ware had not gone to Whist Club, — 

114 



lost: loves labor 

headache, Hkely, — s^one to bed early, — heard noise, — defend 
his own or die, — great Heavens ! 

The figure advanced across the room. Mathewson knew 
that if it reached the mantle and struck a light the jig was 
up. There was no time to get to the window, and he boldly 
resolved upon the only alternative. With a light bound he 
was on the silhouetted figure and grappling with it. 

Ware was a muscular fellow, as Mathewson well knew. 
As a matter of fact, the two were finely matched in point 
of endurance and athletic skill. The Freshman had been 
picked for all his class contests and for one of the 'Varsity 
teams as well. It looked like an even chance. Mathew- 
son's fierce onslaught bore his opponent to the floor, but 
there the advantage ended. Then began one of the most 
evenly-matched contests of physical strength and skill that 
Bowdoin ever saw. 

Mathewson's plan was to force Ware back into the bed- 
room and lock him in, thus affording himself opportunity to 
make good his escape. But the plan did not work. The 
man he had grappled with was as strong and determined as 
he and apparently as skilful a wrestler. Every effort on 
the part of either one to gain an advantage was checkmated 
by the other. If with a desperate lunge the Freshman bore 
his antagonist toward the sleeping-room, he was sure to find 
himself forced back as far and as lustily. Now they fought 
standing, locked to each other in an embrace of iron. Now 
they plunged rolling upon the floor. Their muscles stood 
out in ridges on their heaving bodies. 

For obvious reasons Mathewson uttered no sound. He 
was grimly determined not to give himself away. In the 
interstices of the struggle he was forced to admire the 
other's pluck in gamely fighting to the finish, instead of 
calling loudly for help, as he might easily have done. 

115 



tale;s of bowdoin 

Twenty minutes passed without a sound except the dull 
thuds of their bodies on the floor, as with plunges and 
counter-plunges they tried each other's strength to the 
utmost. A half hour passed. Still they wrestled on grimly, 
the sweat streaming over their foreheads and into their 
eyes. The blood of both was "up." There was no thought 
of calling a truce. 

At three quarters of an hour the fight was still on, but 
nearing a finish. Flesh and blood have their limitations even 
when muscles are at their finest. Each nerved himself for 
a final, desperate struggle in the darkness. For the first 
time in the terrific encounter, a twisting, wrenching side- 
throw on the part of each tore their weakened hold asunder, 
and both fell heavily to the floor, just as a bar of clear 
moonlight slanted into the room. 

Then Mathewson saw, sitting opposite him on the floor, 
not Ware but his own particular friend, Tucker! Both 
glared at each other with wrathful eyes. 

"What — in — Hades — have — you — been — punching — 
me — for?" gasped Mathewson windedly. 

"What — in — Tophet — did — you — pitch — into — me — 
for?" demanded Tucker hotly. Then the humor of the 
situation appealed to both, and they grinned. This relieved 
the tension and paved the way for explanations. 

"I must have shinned up the water-pipe about three 
minutes before you did," Tucker panted, not yet in com- 
mand of his breath, "I came after that beastly picture." 

"Same here, 'Great minds', etc," smiled Mathewson 
feebly. 

"Well, I was on the trail of a match. Forgot to bring 
any, confound it ! When you sailed into me. I thought the 
judgment day had come, for sure." 

"Same here." 

ii6 



LOST: LOVES LABOR 

"Thought you were Ware, blest if I didn't !" 

"Oh, same here, same here !" groaned Mathewson, rub- 
bing himself solicitously. But I say — we'd better be light- 
ing out of here, or Ware'll be home, and I'll bet he'd do us 
both now. I'm played out." 

"Same here," quoted Tucker mirthlessly. 

As they got painfully to their feet the tricky moonlight 
deserted them, and the room was in darkness again. 

"I'm not going now till I've got my grip on that picture," 
vowed Tucker. "Think I'm going to give it up after you've 
broken all my precious bones over it ? Got a match ?" 

They groped about on the floor until the little improvised 
dark-lantern Mathewson had brought was found. Then by 
it dim light they ransacked the room. The desk in one 
corner came under fire and drawers were pulled out and 
pigeon-holes ruthlessly hunted through. 

"Here she is !" whispered Mathewson excitedly, holding 
up a flat package he had unearthed in the lower drawer. 
Tearing apart the wrapping, he disclosed the pen-and-ink 
drawing for which they had both risked so much. It lay 
between two pasteboard protectors and leered up at them 
shamelessly. 

In the instant of their triumph, they heard a step some- 
where down the hall. It was coming toward them and they 
jumped guiltily. 

"It's Ware, as I'm a sinner !" breathed Mathewson. 

"The windovs^ — run for it!" hissed Tucker between his 
teeth. And within three seconds both sinners were sliding 
noiselessly down the water-pipe. Mathewson gripped the 
precious picture tightly under his arm. One soft thud close 
on the heels of the other, they dropped to the ground and 
scudded silently away. Safe in Mathewson's room, Tucker 
dropped in a heap on the couch and mopped his face. 

117 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

"Great Scott, that was a close shave!" he ejaculated. "I 
shall have nervous prostration. I'm tottering^ on the verge." 

"On the verge ! I'm there. I've landed on all four feet," 
mumbled Mathewson weakly. "I'm a physical wreck; my 
own mother wouldn't know me." 

"Well, you do look considerably like a ruin, but chirk up, 
old man, 'All's well that ends well.' We've got that scurri- 
lous cut, any how. That is worth getting pummelled for, 
€ven by your best friend. Let's have another look at the 
thing, will you?" 

With an effort he got to his feet again and crossed the 
room to peer over the other's shoulder. One look satisfied 
him. 

"Heavens and earth, ain't it the 'most unkindest cut of 
all!' " he fumed, brandishing his clenched fists and scowling 
with rage. 

"It's all o' that. Confound the Soph hullo, what's 

this?" Mathewson held up a slip of paper which had 
dropped from between the protectors of the picture. It was 
a Post Office money order, on the New York Post Office, 
for one hundred dollars. There was nothing to explain its 
presence to the two bewildered gazers, but the mere fact of 
its being there was enough. Cold shivers travelled rapidlv 
up and down two weary spinal columns, and the sweat of 
horror beaded their faces. 

The money order had been returned by the artist out of 
courtesy to the Bowdoin man. He had chosen to do the 
work gratuitously for his friend's college acquaintances, 
though this, of course, was not known to the two Freshmen. 
Ware had carelessly allowed the order to remain in the 
package, as, being class funds, there was no present demand 
for it. 

ii8 



LOST: LOVES LABOR 

"Oh, Lord!" groaned Mathewson, "We've done it now! 
This is burglary with a vengeance." 

"State's prison offence," mumbled Tucker. 

Not feeling exactly like standing, they both sat down and 
continued staring at each other foolishly. 

"Why in thunder didn't you light on the money order 
when you opened the thing in Ware's room?" demanded 
Tucker at length in strong accents of reproach. 

"Well, I call that cool !" Mathewson rejoined with heat, 
"Weren't you looking on all the time? Besides, what time 
was there to 'light' on anything? We had all we could do 
to light out ! But that doesn't count now. What I want to 
know is how in creation's name are we going to get this 
blamed thing back where it belongs ? I shan't sleep a wink 
till I get it off my hands. Ugh ! they smell of blood !" 

Tucker laughed in spite of his own gloom. 

"Well," he said, "We can't get rid of it to-night, that's 
certain. Ware's in his room. The fates send he won't miss 
the thing short oft"! Don't you worry, old man, he won't. 
We'll hit on some way to get it back into his desk to-mor- 
row." 

But the seriousness of the affair weighed heavily on 
Mathewson. He realized that it was no light thing to enter 
a man's premises and carry off a hundred dollars. He failed 
to share in any cheerful views concerning the wretched 
matter. 

"What's done at all has got to be done to-night," he said 
finally, "There'll be another procession of Sophs in to-mor- 
row to gloat over that funny picture and it won't be there. 
Then where'll we be? We've got to hit on that nice little 
plan of yours straightway. Go ahead, — out with it." 

Both fellows sat in a brown study for some time. Then 
Tucker had an inspiration bom of his desperate need. 

119 



TAI,ES OF BOWDOIN 

"I have it !" he said jubilantly, "We'll hatch up a tele- 
gram from his folks, — sickness — suicide — cholera — any- 
thing good and urgent. We'll have it delivered before he's 
up in the morning which won't be before seven, likely. 
Ware's a dozy cad. You see that'll start the dear boy off 
on the early train and give him something besides guying 
the Freshies to think about." 

"It'll do!" nodded Mathewson approvingly, "When you're 
drowning you catch at straws. I've got a lot of dispatches 
here from the mater. The luck's on our side. They're 
written in lead pencil by the ojDerator down town and it's 
easy enough to rub 'em out." He hunted up half a dozen 
yellow envelopes and spread them out on the table. 

"Seems to me your mother takes an expensive way to 
communicate with you," remarked Tucker. 

"Oh nothing's too g'ood for me !" laughed the other, but 
there was a tender quality in his tone that did not escape his 
friend. "These are 'health telegrams.' The mater lives 
out West, where the weather's born and she gets the advance 
tips. All our hot and cold waves and big storms travel 
from west to east, you know, — that makes it dead easy for 
the mater. She keeps m.e informed a day ahead." He took 
up two of the little messages and read them aloud. 

"Cold wave coining. Put on thick undersliirt. MOTHER." 

"Expect rain to-morrow. Don't forget rubbers. MOTHER." 

"By Jove ! that one came to-day," he exclaimed. "Can't 
take that. It's got to go up on the bulletin board." And 
he pinned it carefully in a bit of bare wall space. The 
plastering looked worn and fretted as if other health mes- 
sages had hung there in their time. 

After diligent use of erasers, a blank and envelope suffi- 
ciently fresh in appearance for their uses, were found. 

120 



LOST: LOVES LABOR 

"Now for the wording of it, said Tucker. "Where does 
Ware hail from, anyhow ?" 

They got a catalogue and settled that point speedily. 

"How's this?'' went on Tucker, after scribbling for a 
moment. 

"Your mother not expected to live. Come home at once. FATHER." 

"What's the matter with that ?'' 

"No, hang it !" cried the other, "don't say 'mother not 
expected' — make it 'father.' We've got some decency left." 
Which went to further prove that Mathewson had a soft 
spot in his heart for mothers. Accordingly the two words 
were interchanged in the improvised dispatch and the two 
wicked ones gazed at it critically. 

"vSeems most too bad though to make the poor devil think 
hi.s pater's going to die, doesn't it?'' said the more conscien- 
tious Matherwson. 

"Didn't say he was going to die," Tucker retorted. 
" 'Not expected to live' — forever, I meant, of course, but 
that makes eleven words, and this thing's got to go for a 
quarter. The unexpected joy he'll experience when he gets 
home and finds the old man alive and kicking will make it 
all up. That's the plan on which joy and sorrow, weal or 
woe, sickness or dea " 

"Oh, chuck it!" growled Mathewson. "How the deuce 
are we to get this nice little message delivered to Ware ?" 

"Hire a messenger-boy down town. Kiddie Quinn's just 
the ticket. He'll do it for love of me — and a quarter. 
Keep mura about it, too." 

Kiddie did it for a quarter and kept mum. But for some 
reason the message did not appear to produce the effect 
upon Ware that had been expected. He did not take the 
early train for home. At ten o'clock he was observed by; 

121 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

both Mathewson and Tucker going about his daily business 
in a most matter-of-fact way. No one would have dreamed 
that he was threatened with the loss of a parent. 

"Unnatural son !" exploded Mathewson under his breath, 
"Hasn't the duffer any sort of affection for his dying 
father?" 

"Perhaps the kid laid down on his job, who knows?" 
Tucker suggested. The idea seemed worth investigating. 
They hunted up the kid. 

"Look here, Cap'n," cried one of them with startling 
abruptness, "did you deliver that telegram ?" 

"Yep." 

"Sure?" 

"Cross me heart." 

"And the gentleman opened it before your face and eyes ?" 

"Yep." 

"Well, what did he do? Hurry up !" 

"Nothin' — just grinned." 

"Didn't he say anything when he read it?" 

"Said he was an orphan." 

"Oh ! — oh, he did, did he?" And two subdued Freshmen 
walked back up the hill without another word. 

"We'll simply have to trust to luck that he won't miss the 
picture to-day," Mathewson said, when they were in his 
room once more. "We'll watch out and if we see Ware 
making for down town this evening, one of us will shin up 
the pipe again and put the package back in its place, minus 
the picture. That's all there is left to do." 

"And we'll do it. Don't you worry, old man. Ware 
always trots down to the depot with the rest o' the chaps at 
train time, to see if there isn't 'somebody from up home,' 
aboard. That's our cue." 

122 



LOST : LOVE S LABOR 

For tv/0 hours that evening they kept watch over the 
north end door of Winthrop, from near-by shrubbery. 
Train time came and went and still they waited. They were 
finally rewarded by seeing- Ware issue forth with a friend 
and take the path across the campus toward Miaine street. 
Waiting only for him to get well out of sight, they crept 
round in the darkness to the rear of the hall, and Mathew- 
son was soon going nimbly up the water-pipe once more. 
Tucker did sentry duty below. Everything was dark and 
still and favorable. 

Mathewson carefully replaced the flat packet where he 
had found it the night before, and had just started down the 
slippery pipe again when a noise at a window above dis- 
concerted him for an instant. His hold weakened and he 
plunged heavily to the ground. 

Tucker helped him back to Appleton and into his own 
room, then went for a doctor This gentleman set half a 
dozen of his ribs, put him into a plaster jacket and ordered 
him into bed. But broken ribs are of small account when 
a man has saved his class and rouses out of his groans to 
find himself a class hero. That should make up for a good 
many pains and beastly long hours of lying on one's back 
instead of running bases or swinging racquets out in the 
sun. Tucker, too, would have been regarded in the light 
of a hero, had it not been that all his ribs were intact ! 

The class felt profoundly grateful for its deliverance from 
the threatened ignominy and could not apparently do 
enough for its deliverer. Thus it happened that Mathew- 
son's room became the gathering place for as many of the 
Freshman class as it would hold. Intent upon entertaining 
him they taxed the accommodations of the place to the 
utmost. 

123 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

The room was well filled one morning about ten days 
after the accident to the class-god, when a shrill cry was 
heard from the campus outside. It was repeated from hall 
to hall and swelled to a chorus. 

"Hark !" exclaimed one of the assembled Freshmen, 
"Methinks I hear the Bugle-call !" 

There was a rush down stairs and a scurrying off to the 
room where the newly-arrived Bugles would be on sale, then 
a hot race back to Mathewson's bedside with the books. A 
shower of them fell upon the bed. 

"There, old man, we'll give you first peek. You've 
earned it." 

"By George, yes ! If it hadn't been for you there'd have 
been a beastly grind on us in there." 

"Open it, open it, old man!" 

Mathewson seized one of the books and opened it. 
Unkind trick of fate ! The leaves parted at exactly the page 
where reposed, in all its cutting irony, — in all its sardonic 
glee, — the "grind" on the Freshman class ! 

The plate had been engraved in New York and the sketch 
from which it was made sent afterwards to the Sophomore 
class, merely as a souvenir of their triumph. 

The roomful of faces melted quietly away. The class 
hero sank heavily back on the pillows with a pain in his ribs. 



IN THE PRESIDENT'S ROOM 

Henry S. Webster, 'dj 



IN THE PRESIDENT'S ROOM 

TOWARD the close of a September day in the year 
1864, a crowd of students was collected on the Bow- 
doin campus near the Thorndike oak. Each class was not 
only represented, but present almost in its entirety ; still, as 
the college at that time bore upon its rolls only about a 
hundred names, the reader is not to imagine the assembly 
as one of remarkable proportions. The several classes, 
without beirig grouped as separate bodies, were in a measure 
distinct, as if their members were drawn together by com- 
munity of sentiment or interest. The center of the throng 
was composed mainly of Sophomores who. to the melody 
of tin horns, devil's fiddles and watchmen's rattles, from 
time to time added vocal effects scarcely less loud and dis- 
cordant. Next to them stood the open-eyed Freshmen, 
eagerly appreciative of the novelty of the scene ; while most 
of the upper-class men were ranged along the outer edge or 
a little apart, and were endeavoring to preserve looks and 
attitudes of aloofness and indifference. 

The object of attraction appeared to be a tall, spare man 
who was standing upon a rude plank-and-barrel rostrum, 
and, whenever the uproar would permit, launching his 
remarks in a violent manner at the bystanders. He was 
apparently some sixty years of age. His head was uncov- 
ered, showing his hair thin and streaked with gray. His 
face was smooth except for a stubbly two days' growth of 
beard, and was wrinkled and browned by exposure to the 
weather. Beside him upon the platform rested a dilapi- 

127 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

dated silk hat which, as well as his suit of rusty black, 
looked as if it might have been discarded some years before 
by its former owner. They were not, however, incongruous 
with the rest of his attire, since both his dickey above and 
his shirt below his black stock bore the same signs of pov- 
erty and neglect. 

I had been engaged that afternoon on a delicate mission. 
A pailful of water, designed for the discipHne of some 
offending Freshman, had been precipitated by mistake upon 
the head of our Latin professor, and I had been delegated 
by my classmates to explain to our venerable instructor just 
how the untoward event had happened. The interview was 
a protracted one, and the admonitions which I then received 
have probably had a marked effect in forming my character. 
Be that as it may, I was late in my arrival at the scene on 
the campus and in consequence heard only the conclusion 
of the speaker's harangue. 

"Gentlemen," he was saying as I approached, "what do 
we mean when w^e say that a man is 'some pumpkins' ? We 
mean that he is full of ideas just as a pumpkin is full of 
seeds. What do we mean when we say that he is a 'brick'? 
Why, a brick is part of a building. Let us now consider 
the attraction of gravitation, that mysterious force which 
binds together atoms and worlds, princes and parallelo- 
grams, cones, pyramids and the Sphinx. A traveler is 
lost on a Western prairie. He has wandered all day, far 
from home and v/ith nothing to eat. Night comes on. The 
wolves begin to howl in the darkness. At last he reaches a 
log cabin, almost in ruins. No matter, it will afford him 
shelter for the night. Scarcely has he entered and com- 
posed himself to rest when a violent storm arises. Thun- 
ders roar. Lightnings flash. The snow heaps against the 
door. It grows bitterly cold. What shall he do? He 

128 



IN THE president's ROOM 

can't stay there and freeze to death. Let me illustrate. 
Two darkies, walking down Broadway, saw a quarter of a 
dollar on the sidewalk. One of the colored gentlemen said 
to his companion, 'Sambo, don't you freeze to dat quarter. 
I seed it first.' That is just the idea. He can't stay there 
and freeze. His soul — but what do we know about the 
soul? Is it homogeneous or heterogeneous? Who can 
tell? Who except me, Daniel Pratt, the Great American 
Traveler, and soon to be President of the United States? 
Why not? Was not imperial Rome once saved by the 
cackling of a goose?" 

The applause, by which the orator had been frequently 
interrupted, at this point became so vociferous and long 
continued that it was impossible for him to proceed. He 
at last desisted from his attempts to do so and descended 
from the platform. He had been speaking more than three- 
quarters of an hour, and the students, tired of listening to 
his rambling and incoherent remarks, had adopted the most 
efficacious method of bringing his address to its conclusion. 

The chairman of the meeting had been taking things easy. 
After introducing the speaker, he had seated himself on the 
edge of the platform and lighted his long-stemmed pipe. 
There he had remained, quietly smoking, with his feet 
dangling over the side. He was a Junior and was often 
pointed out as the most popular man in college. As he 
scrambled to his feet, one of his classmates shouted, "Hi 
there ! Listen to the red-headed boy !" His rising or the 
impertinent remark was the signal for another outburst of 
applause ; but the tumult presently subsided and he spoke as 
follows : 

"Fellow students — for I shall not imitate the gross flat- 
tery indulged in by the preceding speaker by. addressing you 
as gentlemen — with what rapture have we listened to the 
H 129 



TALKS OF BOWDOIN 

eloquence of our distinguished friend. I stand not here to 
praise him, for he needs no encomium of mine. Where is 
the man who has not heard of Daniel Pratt ? Where is the 
child that is not taught to prattle that immortal name? 
Where is the 'yagger,' even, so ignorant as to be unac- 
quainted with it? North and South, East and West his 
fame extends, and I shall not waste your valuable time in 
efforts to gild the refined gold of his character or paint the 
spotless lily of his reputation. I now have the honor to 
propose this remarkable man as our candidate for the office 
of President of the United States. All in favor of such 
nomination will please to say aye." 

Every voice responded, "Aye!" 

"Those opposed," resumed the chairman, "will also say 
aye." 

Another chorus of ayes followed. 

"The ayes have it," said the presiding officer. "It is a 
vote." 

Then the Junior who had "roughed" the chairman on his 
red hair, in a jargon invented by his class in its Sophomore 
year called for "three-gee chee-geers for Pre-gesident 
Pra-gatt." They were given with a will ; and after it was 
again quiet, the chairman again begged the indulgence of 
his audience for a few minutes. There was a ceremony, he 
said, which commonly followed their candidate's orations. It 
might be considered commemorative of the passing of King 
Arthur, for it was knov/n as the passing of the hat. At the 
present time it was of more than passing importance. Mr. 
Pratt was not a crafty and designing politician. He was a 
man of open countenance, but his countenance was no more 
open than his boots. Should they compel him to stand upon 
their platform in such a pair of boots as that? Heaven 
forbid ! Let him not have to say that his visit to Bowdoin 

130 



IN the; president s room 

had been altogether bootless. Mr. Pratt's hat, which was 
already passe, would presently be passed. Let the results of 
their generosity, in the language of their esteemed Prex, "be 
adequate to the exigencies of the occasion." Let every man 
now search his pockets. A good many doubtless would find 
nothing there, but such would be expected to borrow of their 
chums. That was the course which he himself intended to 
adopt. One suggestion, not altogether impertinent. Mr. 
Pratt's clothes were somewhat the worse for wear, but they 
possessed their full complement of buttons. The hat would 
now be moved among the audience, and it was hoped that 
the audience would be moved to fill the hat. During the 
ceremony, Mr. Pratt would repeat one of his poetic gems. 
It was already familiar to them, well worn as a gem always 
should be, but one which they never tired of hearing, as they 
would admit on being informed that it was the one begin- 
ning with the lines, "Sound, sound the ponderous hugag! 
Great Daniel Pratt appears !" 

Daniel Pratt, who has now been introduced to the reader's 
notice, was well known to the college student of thirty or 
forty years ago. He was a half-demented but harmless 
vagrant whose time was spent in wandering from place 
to place and delivering his lectures, as he termed them, 
wherever he could find anyone willing to listen to him. He 
still retained some traces of good birth and breeding. It 
was his especial delight to visit college towns and address 
the students. Some of his college acquaintances had com- 
posed for him pieces of doggerel, often expressing senti- 
ments uncomplimentary to himself, which he had committed 
to memory and was accustomed to recite at the conclusion 
of his lectures. The character of the latter may be fairly 
judged from the specimen given above, which is largely 
reproduced from memory. The conferring of a degree, or 

131 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

his nomination as a Presidential candidate, was a staple part 
of the fun which the students were accustomed to have with 
him when he honored them with his presence. He died 
some years ago at an almshouse in some part of New 
England. 

On this particular occasion, the liberality of his audience 
corresponded with the appeal which had been made in his 
behalf. With his pockets well replenished with scrip — coin 
of all kinds was then in hiding — Daniel, at the head of a 
procession composed of the greater part of his auditors, 
was noisily escorted to a boot and shoe store far down 
Maine street. There the vagrant's ragged foot-wear was 
replaced by a serviceable pair of cowhides. After a sub- 
stantial meal at the railroad restaurant, he was reconducted 
to the college grounds. It being now dark, his disposal for 
the night became a matter of serious consideration. The 
problem, however, was finally solved ; for at a timely hour 
he was taken to a dormitory room which, although destitute 
of a bed, contained, in addition to its furnishings of desk, 
table and chairs, a comfortable lounge which promised a 
luxurious night's repose for his weary limbs. 

Now the room selected by the students for the entertain- 
ment of their guest was known as the President's Room. It 
was situated on the second floor of Appleton Hall at the 
northeast corner. It was occupied in the daytime by the 
head of the college as occasion required, his residence being 
at a considerable distance from the campus, near the lower 
end of Federal street. Some Sophomores had unlocked the 
door by means of a false key, and had carefully locked it 
again as soon as they had seen their visitor comfortably fixed 
for the night. 

The tramp was tired out with his day's travel and exer- 
tion, he had partaken of a hearty meal, and as a combined 

132 



IN the; president's room 

result of fatigue and fullness he slept late into the next fore- 
noon. He was awakened at last by the turning of the Pres- 
ident's key in the lock. That functionary, on entering the 
room, was astonished at the sight of a human figure seated 
on his lounge. Nor did the appearance of the stranger 
reconcile him to the unexpected event. The President was 
an urbane man, but a shade of annoyance was perceptible in 
his rolling, sonorous voice as he spoke, albeit his perturba- 
tion of mind did not detract from the accustomed stateliness 
of his style. 

"My dear sir," he said, "by what surreptitious means you 
gained access to this apartment I know not ; but I must take 
the liberty to inform you that it is designed for my personal 
convenience, and not as a harborage for vagabonds." 

The vagrant looked intently at the President, and the eyes 
of the latter fell before his gaze. Heaven had vouchsafed 
to the poor lunatic a brief respite from the tangled web of 
thought m which his mind was ordinarily involved. An 
expression of manliness and of suffering had transformed 
his face, and his voice was tremulous with emotion as he 
replied to his interlocutor, who in the meantime had sunk 
into a chair and was leaning his head upon his hand. 

"Vagabond?" repeated the outcast. "Yes. I am a vaga- 
bond. You do right to call me by that name. I am a 
vagabond, a wanderer to and fro upon the face of the earth, 
penniless, friendless, homeless, O God ! Men shun me. 
Boys mock me and use me for their sport. All hope is 
gone, all aim in life wasted or thrown away. Perhaps I 
had as fair a start as you. When I was young, I was fond 
of reading, I had a good memory, I was apt at my lessons. 
My parents were proud of me, my teachers praised me, my 
playmates liked me and sought my company. How did I 
fall so low ? The old, old story ! Reckless associates, self- 

133 



tai,e;s of bowdoin 

indulgence, disgrace, crime, then banishment from decent 
society, and at last poverty, misery and a distracted mind. 
Once in a while the darkness lifts: the sunshine of reason 
makes a rift in the clouds. O the anguish, the terrible, 
terrible despair of those moments ! When insanity begins 
again to benumb my faculties, how I welcome its approach ! 
There at least is forgetfulness — forgetfulness of the past 
and of the present. Such is the story of my life. With 
you, Mr. President, how different ! You have made the 
most of your powers, both of body and of mind. You have 
been always wise, always prudent, always helpful to your 
fellow-men, always solicitous for the good of humanity. 
The young men w^hom it has been your duty and privilege 
to instruct have found in you a guide, a friend, a father, 
one in whom they could confide and to whom they could 
look for counsel. So now, when w^e are both nearing the 
end of life, you are contented, self-satisfied, tranquil in mind, 
a stranger to remorse, while I am — what I am !" 

The vagrant stopped. The light faded from his eyes. 
He had relapsed into his former self. Approaching the 
President, whose head had now sunk upon his arm, he 
touched him familiarly on the shoulder and said in his old 
sharp voice, "Cheer up, old man ! T harbor no grudges. 
When I am President, would you like to be minister or 
consul? Louden? St. Petersburg? Constantinople? You 
have not long to wait. The hour of my glory is about to 
dawn. 

"Let Shakespeare go behind the door, 
Let Milton show his head no more, 
Bid Pope and Byron leave the room 
And give the American Traveler room." 

Before the end of his speech he had left the apartment 
and his new boots could be heard clamping down the stairs. 

134 



IN THE PRESIDENTS ROOM 

For a long time the President sat with his head resting 
on his arms. What thoughts surged through his brain. 
Wasted opportunities ? They crowded in myriads upon his 
mental vision. He recalled the bright promise of his youth, 
the hopes and prophecies of his friends and classmates. He 
remembered his visit to the Old World and the plans, 
aspirations and resolves which the sight of its treasures had 
awakened in his soul. He pictured himself again in Rome 
and conversing in Latin with the Holy Father, with the 
proud consciousness of equalling that dignitary in the cor- 
rectness, fluency and elegance of his speech. Through what 
avenue had the poison entered his soul, the distrust in his 
own reason, the doubt whether it is worth while to contend 
for absolute truth and right, the indolence of thought which 
leads one to submit to the tyranny of custom, to renounce 
his ideals, to become the slave of use and precedent? He 
had assumed the presidency of Bowdoin in the vigor of his 
young manhood. His inaugural had entranced his hearers 
and had elicited praise from the coldest and most severe of 
critics. But it had been his high-water mark. Never again 
did he reach so high a level. Consciousness of ability was 
not wanting, but a fatal paralysis seemed to have benumbed 
his will. Hew, too, had he performed the duties devolving 
on him. as head of the college? Had it not been in a per- 
functory way, without a due appreciation of his responsi- 
bilities, if not with a wanton disregard of the preciousness 
and needs of the young souls entrusted to his charge ? Had 
he given them the help, the sympathy, the encouragement 
which it was their right to expect? Had he exemplified to 
them the ripe and cultured scholar in his beneficent influence 
upon the spirit and institutions of his countrv and his age? 
Had he so drawn them to himself, so won their affection 
and esteem, that he would be to them through their lives a 

135 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

never failing source of inspiration, courage and enthusiasm? 
Alas ! he was now an old man. No longer was it in his 
power to redeem the past or to atone for its errors. The 
characters which he had inscribed on the pages of his life 
must remain as they were written. He could only hope that 
Time, the all-destroyer, might blot them from remembrance, 
and that the recollection of them might not haunt him in the 
grave whither he was hastening. To whom of us, in hours 
of solitary reflection, do not thoughts equally bitter and 
despairing come ! 

How far the President's future career was changed or his 
character ennobled by that hour's meditation may not be 
told. The effect of spiritual experiences cannot be traced 
and noted with the same accuracy as the influence of the 
magnetic current or the results of chemical reaction. I only 
know that there was an especial fervor in his voice and an 
unwonted simplicity in his speech as he said to us in chapel 
that evening: 

"If I were to give a young man the best counsel which it 
is in my power to utter, distilling into a few words all my 
past lessons and experience, I would say to him, Be true, 
be earnest, be self-reliant : have faith in God. have faith also 
in yourself; avoid th-e sins of sloth, idleness and indiffer- 
ence; keep every fiber of your being responsive to the 
claims of duty, to the needs of humanity, to the prompt- 
ings of what is best and noblest in your soul; then, as 
you draw near the evening of your days, you will not 
stand at the bar of your conscience with ypur original gifts 
wrapped in the napkin of an easeful and inglorious life ; but, 
glorying in their more than ten-fold increase, you may with 
assurance await those words of approval and reward, 'Well 
done, good and faithful servant, I will make thee ruler over 
many things : enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.' " 

136 



THE STORY OF A 

BOWDOIN STORY-TELLER 

WiLMOT B. Mitchell, '90 



THE STORY Or A BOWDOIN STORY-TELLER 

iilT was a sad day for the Children of Israel when there 
I arose a king in Egypt that knew not Joseph. It will 
be a sad day for Bowdoin College when there arises a gen- 
eration of students that know not Elijah Kellogg." Thus 
it was, I recall, that one Sunday afternoon in my Senior 
year, President Hyde introduced to the students of Bowdoin 
a little, bent, bronzed old man who spoke to us with sim- 
plicity and eloquence of spiritual blindness. "A man of 
small body and large soul," said one of the fellows after- 
wards, — an impression which, I think, Mr. Kellogg made 
upon us all. We shall see this whole-souled man upon our 
campus no more, but he will speak to Bowdoin students for 
years to come. For although he held no college office, it 
goes without question that no one was more loved by Bow- 
doin men than he. From the day he came to Brunswick, 
sixty-four years ago last autumn, and presented himself, as 
he says, "a sedate and diffident youth, between the two maple 
trees that relieved the monotony of this arid and barren col- 
lege yard, and, like friendship and misfortune, flung their 
shadow over the steps of Massachusetts Hall, and sued for 
admission to Bowdoin College," even to the day when the 
students gathered around his bier, the boys have felt that he 
was their friend, a man after their own heart. 

It is of interest to go back, in imagination, to that autumn 
of '36 and see the young college with this young man at its 
doors. To outward view, the college then was not the col- 
lege of to-day. There was not the grateful shade of elm 

139 



TALES Oif BOWDOIN 

and maple; there was no King Chapel with its stately 
spires ; no granite hall memorial of war and sacrifice ; no 
Searles Science Building witnessing that "Nature's laws are 
God's thoughts;" no Walker Art Building teaching that 
beauty is truth and truth beauty. On the "college yard" 
not more than one-fourth the size of the present campus 
there were only five buildings, — old Massachusetts, of 
course, Winthrop, Maine, a wooden chapel and the Presi- 
dent's house. But though with small material equipment, 
the college had a corps of instructors of sound learning and 
strong personality. There was the "impassive, inflexible 
Allen," soon to be succeeded by the affable and brilliant 
Woods. There, too, were the "gentle Newman," the "mag- 
nificent and massive Cleaveland," the "indomitable and 
uncompromising Smythe," the precise and polished Packard, 
the "sensitive and saintly Upham," the accomplished and 
gracious Goodwin, Into these surroundings and under 
these benign influences came young Kellogg of Portland. 

Small of stature but strong, sharp-eyed, brown and wiry, 
we can well imagine him on that October day when, "with 
humility," as he says, he "requested an inhabitant of the 
village to point out the President of the college," and he 
"gazed upon that great man with anxiety and solicitude 
inspired by the belief that" his "fate and that of his com- 
panions lay in the great man's clutches," Though the son 
of a city minister, he had not spent his twenty-three years 
shut up in a parsonage. He knew how to swing the scythe 
and to handle the "narrow axe," knowledge that was to 
stand him in good stead in after years, This he had gained 
on his uncle's farm in Gorham where his mother had sent 
him that he might be away from the alluring voices of the 
sea. For from, early boyhood he had loved the water. 
When but a youngster, the story goes, he went to sail in 

140 



THE STORY OF A UOWOOIN STORY-TELLER 

Back Cove with a sugar box for a boat and his shirt for a 
sail. As a boy he was never so happy as when having 
stolen to Fore Street, he could listen to the yarns which the 
old sailors spun. On one occasion this pastime brought him 
to grief. One Sabbath morning his father missed him from 
church, and when about noon the boy returned from the 
wharves, his father demanded an explanation of his 
absence from divine service. The youngster asserted that 
he had attended the Methodist church. His father, doubt- 
ing his word, asked him to give the text. This the boy 
readily did ; and then, being requested, began to give an out- 
line of the sermon. But alas! young Elijah had been 
brought up on doctrine strictly Congregational and knew 
not the tenets of John Wesley. When he was about two- 
thirds of the way through and imagined he was doing 
bravely, the stern preacher gave him a ringing box on the 
ear and demanded that he stop his lying; no Methodist 
minister would ever preach such doctrine as that. 

Though his uncle's farm, upon which he liked to work, 
was some distance inland, there was ever resounding in his 
ears the irresistible roar of the ocean. To this he at length 
yielded ; but after a year or two of life upon the sea, which 
to his last hour he loved much, persuaded by his mother he 
fitted in his father's study and at Gorham Academy, and 
sought and gained admission to the college. 

Young Kellogg came from good stock. In him English 
and Scotch-Irish met and mingled. His father, Elijah, at 
fourteen was a drummer boy in the Continental Army at 
Bunker Hill, passed through the terrible winter with Wash- 
ington's army at Valley Forge, later graduated from Dart- 
mouth College, was a successful missionary to the Indians, 
a trustee of our college, and an influential preacher in Port- 
land. His mother, Eunice, was a woman of strong and 

141 



TALES 01^ BOWDOIN 

resolute will, a true-born granddaug-hter of Hugh and 
Elizabeth McClellan, those early settlers of Gorham, who 
"risked their scalps for land" ; who indeed, as Mr. Kellogg 
has shown us in "Good Old Times," braved the perils of 
the sea and the savages to found a home in the new country. 
For a lad with such strength behind him, half of the victory 
is already won. He has chosen his grandfathers well. 

Here at Bowdoin young Kellogg soon became a popular 
member of the Peucinian society, in fact, a favorite of the 
whole college ; not because he had much money to spend, for 
he was to a great extent dependent upon his own resources. 
A few years ago he said somewhat jokingly, "I worked my 
way through college with a narrow axe, and when I was 
hard up for money I used to set the college fence afire and 
burn it up, and the Treasurer would hire me to build another 
one. Let the young man who has to help himself thank 
God, keep his powder dry, and take to his bosom the old 
motto : 'Per angusta ad augusta.' " Popularity at Bow- 
doin then as now depended upon something more to be 
treasured than money. "In Kellogg's social life," writes 
one of his college mates, "he was always boiling over with 
good humor ; very fluent in talk, and exceedingly interesting 
as a conversationalist. Indeed as a whole, Kellogg was 
literally sui generis." "He was universally popular," 
writes another, a classmate of his in both academy and col- 
lege, "but he had his own chosen favorites, and one charac- 
teristic of him was his strong personal affection towards 
them. His soul burned with love for those whom he loved. 
This was the secret of his power for good, for his influence 
upon others was always good." And still another, "I 
remember him as companionable, a good story-teller, viva- 
cious and even playful. No one would have guessed that he 
was the son of a grave minister and missionary." 

142 



THE STORY OF A BOWDOIN STORY-TELLER 

His college life, I judge, was not always as the Faculty or 
his parson father would have had it. Doubtless from early 
boyhood he was a pretty wide-awake youngster, hardly 
willing to sit in his father's study and read Bunyan's "Holy 
War" or Pike's "Persuasives to Early Piety," two books 
which I noticed the other day in his father's library. 
"He was in a pickle most of the time" is the way his niece, 
justly proud of her uncle and well-informed in family tradi- 
tion, put it. Turn such a lad active, daring, resourceful, 
inventive, full of fun to his finger tips, into the college as it 
was then, with but little baseball, football or rowing to aid, 
as he said once, "the germs of mischief to ooze out in copious 
drops of perspiration," and he is likely to occasion more or 
less parental solicitude and require a good deal of Faculty 
surveillance. If young Kellogg really played one-third 
of the pranks which apocryphal college tradition ascribes to 
him, even his resources must have been severely taxed. Let 
a Bowdoin student to-day climb as high a church or chapel 
spire as he can, Elijah Kellogg, he finds, went several rods 
higher. For every gill of molasses a Sophomore to-day 
pours into a Freshman's bed, Elijah Kellogg poured gallons. 
For every one Freshman whom he sends to the President to 
"make up chapel," Kellogg sent dozens. Many of these 
traditions, we discover as soon as we try to verify them, 
are only Canterbury tales, but there are then enough left to 
save his reputation as a practical joker. 

During his Sophomore year, one morning as the students 
went to prayers, they saw "Old Gul's" (short for President 
Guilielmus Allen's) hat, a big open-work affair, on top of the 
chapel steeple. They did not seize upon Kellogg and bear 
him on their shoulders triumphantly into chapel, as did 
'Ninety when Chandler put the tall hat bearing the insignia 
of Phi Chi on top of the lightning rod; "there was no 

143 



TALUS OF' BOWDOIN 

doubt," however, writes one of his classmates, "that Kellogg 
put it there, for no one else had the daring or power to per- 
form such a feat, but I do not remember that he was ever 
called to account for it." 

At another time when he climbed the belfry with the 
intention of silencing the bell, — an intention which in these 
days would have seemed laudable, for it called the students 
out at six o'clock in the morning, — as he thrust his head 
into the bell-tower, President Allen's hired man was there 
to seize him by the hair. What penalty was meted out to 
him Mr. Kellogg did not mention when in after years he 
told the story with twinkling eyes. But possibly he had 
not got entirely over his chagrin at getting caught, when a 
large gander, bonneted in a Brunswick woman's green 
calash, went flying through an open window of the Presi- 
dent's house, much to the horror of the company assembled 
there at an evening reception. 

A story often told concerning Mr. Kellogg runs as fol- 
lows : A sign had been stolen, "swiped" the twentieth cen- 
tury student would say, and the men in Kellogg's dormitory 
were suspected. Now we must know that in those early 
days students were not allowed to do their own sweet will 
in the dormitories but were carefully watched by tutors or 
"tutes." According to the regulations a tutor was not to 
enter a student's room v/hen he was at devotions. In this 
instance, the story goes, when the sign was almost entirely 
consumed in Kellogg's fireplace, a "tute" approached his 
room. Receiving no response to his knock, he listened and 
heard some one reading the Scriptures. After a moment or 
two he caught these words: "And he answered and said 
unto them, an evil and adulterous generation seeketh after 
a sign : and there shall no sign be given to it." 

144 



the; story of a bowdoin story-teller 

Although so full of fun, Kellog-g- had underneath it all a 
pretty serious purpose. He was never lazy. He was 
always ready to work his way. Much of the time in college 
he boarded with Mrs. Susan Dunning on the corner of 
Maine and Noble streets just in front of where Professor 
Robinson now lives ; and he paid for his board by cutting 
wood. He was proud of his ability to use an axe; he never 
tired of telling that the size of his chips and the way he made 
them fly showed conclusively, the wood-cutters thought, that 
he was not a "colleger." 

It was while working for this good woman that he had 
the great satisfaction of seeing President Allen laugh. The 
well-sweep was broken and Kellogg had agreed to repair it. 
As the snow was too deep to take the cattle out, he took a 
sled and going to a wood lot cut a big, heavy pole such as 
was needed for one of those old well-sweeps. "I put it on 
the sled and tried to haul it," he said, "but the long end 
dragging in the deep snow made that impossible ; so instead 
of hauling it, I took hold of the end and started pushing it 
home. It was hard work, and to make matters worse whom 
should I meet but the dignified President Allen. 'Well, 
Kellogg,' he said, 'I have heard of putting the cart before 
the horse but I never saw it done before.' Then he burst 
into a hearty laugh, and that's the only time I ever saw him 
e\'en smile in all the years I knew him." 

In his studies he by no means stood at the foot of his 
class. Although he doubtless liked a college prank better 
than the mysteries of Calculus, he was appointed to take 
part in the Junior and Senior Exhibition in his Junior year, 
an appointment made on the basis of rank. He enjoyed the 
classics exceedingly and was even at this time a good writer. 
"He was strenuous and persistent in whatever he under- 
took," writes a college mate. "I remember when he was 
I 145 



TALKS OF BOWDOIN 

composing a poem or preparing an essay, he gave his whole 
soul to it ; his demeanor showed that he was absorbed in it 
and absent-minded to everything else, until that one thing 
was done." 

During his Junior year he was one of the editors of his 
society paper, and it was about that work, indeed, that he 
intended to write a story for this very volume. "When I 
was editor," he said, "contributions came in slowly, so I had 
to do most of the work myself. Well, how do you think I 
managed it ? Why, in this way. President Allen had con- 
ceived the idea that he could write hymns ; so he proceeded 
to write nearly a whole volume of them. You can find 
them now in the college library. And four of the Faculty 
thought they could sing and withal could sing the Presi- 
dent's hymns, which they tried to do much to the delectation 
of the students. So when I was without contributions I 
used to fill up my paper with parodies of those hymns." 
And then the old man, with a boyish twinkle in his eyes, 
only a month before his death, repeated from memory 
twenty or thirty lines of one of those parodies. 

Mr. Kellogg's close connection with the college did not 
end with his graduation. For the next three years he was 
at Andover, to be sure, but even while there he made a place 
for himself very near to the heart of all school and college 
boys ; for it was at Andover that he wrote those matchless 
declamations, "Spartacus to the Gladiators" and "Regulus 
to the Carthaginians." Even more than Anthon, — the 
editor of that famous edition of the classics which might 
well be called centaur-like, for it was half man and half 
"horse," — Mr. Kellogg won the gratitude of every school 
and college boy. What school boy has not "met upon the 
arena every shape of man or beast and never lowered his 
arm?" Surely scores of our graduates have deserved the 

146 



THD STORY OF A EOWDOIN STORY-TELLER 

name of "Reg," — which has attached itself inseparably to 
a member of '87, — if it is to be given for liking to declaim 
"Regulus to the Carthaginians," — for beginning in a low, 
subdued tone and standing "calm and unmoved as the 
marble wall," and ending with gutteral tones and in a fane 
frenzy on "Cut as he would have carved you. Burn deep 
as his curse." 

How he happened to write "Spartacus" he used to like to 
tell to college boys. In the rhetorical exercises at the sem- 
inary, each student was required to speak something he had 
written. Afterward he was criticised by the class and then 
by the professor. The class criticisms were sometimes 
pretty pungent and those by the professor, though just, were 
always searching. Consequently the students came to dread 
the speaking. "At last I made up my mind," said Mr. Kel- 
logg, "that I would try to get something so unusual and so 
interesting that it v;ould hold their attention too closely for 
them to think about criticisms. Well, I wrote 'Spartacus.' 
When I began, it worked just as I had expected. They 
were taken by surprise. You could have heard a pin drop 
while I was speaking and they didn't recover till after I had 
finished. Then when Professor Park turned to the stu- 
dents and inquired: 'What criticisms have you to offei', 
young gentlemen ?' there wasn't one of them had a word to 
say; for they were all thinking of the piece and hadn't 
noticed anything else. 'Gentlemen,' said the professor, 'we 
are not here for theological disquisitions nor for learned 
arguments, but these exercises are purely rhetorical, and, 
gentlemen, that is rhetoric' Then turning to me he 
remarked: 'I could criticise you, Kellogg, but I don't know 
whether it would do you good or harm ; on the whole, there- 
fore, I think 1 will say nothing.' So," said the old man 
laughingly, "I got out of it pretty easy that time." 

147 



TAI,ES Olf BOVVDOIN 

From Andover to keep a promjse made in his undergrad- 
uate days that if the people of Harpswell would build a 
church, he would be their minister, he came back to where he 
saw much of the students. Since then, with the exception of 
the ten winters he was in Boston, he has been almost under 
the eaves of the college. 

For some years the college had the custom of sending 
met! whom it "rusticated" to stay with Mr. Kellogg; and 
doubtless his strong, manly character brought more than 
one boy to his better self. That his treatment of these boys 
was not exactly that of Squeers, this instance will show. 
One young fellow whom the college sent him was especially 
rebellious at first. Through cheap story papers he had 
become cheek by jowl with Old Sleuth and his boon com- 
panions, and he sought to emulate them by carrying a 
revolver and a dirk knife. Mr. Kellogg told him that as 
he would not find any Indians or many wild beasts down 
there, he had better surrender his weapons. This the young 
man did after much reluctance. During the first day Mr. 
Kellogg left him to himself, as he was inclined to sulk. In 
the evening he began to talk to the boy indifferently at first, 
afterwards kindly. All the time — lover-like — he kept edg- 
ing up nearer to him on the big sofa and finally in his 
genuine, whole-souled way, put his hand affectionately on 
the lad's shoulder. To such treatment the young fellow 
was not accustomed. It was so different from his over- 
stern father's that it threw him entirely off his guard. He 
could not withstand the man's kindly interest and genuine 
manner. His rebellious spirit was broken. The boy 
dreaded his father's rebuke, and the next day, unknown to 
him, Mr. Kellogg wrote to his mother telling all about her 
son and urging that the father write to him kindly and not 

148 



THE STORY OF A BOWDOIN STORY-TELLER 

Sternly. A few days after this the youngs fellow was sur- 
prised and delighted to receive from home a letter of for- 
giveness and encouragement. 

On July fourth there was to be a celebration in Portland. 
The boy wished but did not expect to go. "Well," said 
Mr. Kellogg one dav after they had been speaking of the 
matter, "I am afraid you can't go. I have no authority to 
let you. But, then, I really want to attend that celebration 
myself and I can't be expected to leave you at home alone." 
When the day of celebration came the student and the 
preacher could have been seen tramping the streets of Port- 
land, both, I have no doubt, having a right royal good 
time. 

In 1852, when the college celebrated its semi-centennial, 
Mr. Kellogg was asked to write the ode. "I didn't know 
anything about it beforehand," said his niece, "but I was 
staying with Uncle Elijah then, and he asked me to attend 
the celebration with him. At supper, the evening before, 
he said to his housekeeper, 'Well, Mary, pour me a Birch 
Island cup of tea to-night.' Birch Island tea, he always 
said, would hold up an egg. After supper I heard him in 
his study overhead walking back and forth and talking to 
himself, but I did not know what he was doing. As we 
rode up to Brunswick the next morning he seemed much 
preoccupied and kept mumbling over some poetry. He left 
me at my cousin's and went off, as 1 afterwards learned, to 
the office of Mr. Griffin, the printer. There he repeated to 
him the ode, and just before it was time to sing it, the 
freshly printed slips were brought in and distributed." 
That Birch Island tea did not drug the muse the following 
lines Avill show: 

149 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

"From waves that break to break again, 
From winds tbat die to gather might, 

How pleasant on the stormy main 
Appears the sailor's native height. 



But sweeter memories cluster here 

Than ever stirred a seaman's breast. 
Than e'er provoked his grateful tear. 

Or wooed the mariner to rest. 

'Twas here our life of life began— 

The spirit felt its dormant power; 
'Twas here the child became the man— 

The opening bud became a flower. 

On these old trees each nestling leaf. 

The murmur of yon flowing stream. 
Has power to stir a buried grief. 

Or to recall some youthful dream . 

Each patb that skirts the tangled wood, 

Or winds amidst its secret maze. 
Worn by the feet of those we loved, 

Brings back the form of other days. 

Of those whose smile was heaven to thee, 

Whose voice a richer music made 
Than brooks that murmur to the sea. 

Or birds that warble in the shade. 

Around these ancient altar fires 

We cluster with a joyous heart. 
While ardent youth and hoary sires 

Alike sustain a grateful part." 

Between 1865 and 1880 came his books ; and these bound 
him still closer to the college ; for in his "Whispering Pine 
Series" he has given us a good look into the lives of the 
students in the early days and has caught in the amber of 
his story many Bowdoin customs. 

He pictures vividly to us the early Commencement, when 
nearly the whole District of Maine seemed to keep holiday. 
From far and near came people in carryalls and stages, on 
horseback, in packets and pleasure boats, to join in the col- 

150 



THE STORY OF A BOWDOIN STORY-TEIvLER 

lege merrymaking. Hundreds of carriages bordered the 
yard, and barns and sheds were filled with horses ; host- 
lers were running to and fro sweating and swearing; 
and every house was crammed with people. To Com- 
mencement came not only the beauty, wit and wisdom of 
the District but also those who cared little for art or learn- 
ing. With dignified officials, sober matrons, and gay belles 
and beaux came also horse- jockeys, wrestlers, snake- 
charmers, gamblers, and venders of every sort. The college 
yard was dotted with booths where were sold gingerbread, 
pies, egg-nog, long-line cigars, beers small, and, alas! too 
often for good order, beers large. While Seniors in the 
church were discoursing on "Immortality," jockeys outside 
were driving sharp trades and over-convivial visitors engag- 
ing in free fights. 

In his "Sophomores of Radcliffe" Mr. Kellogg tells us of 
the Society of Olympian Jove, a society whose customs per- 
haps sprang partly from the author's imagination and partly 
from his experience. His description of great Jove seated 
upon his majestic throne, under a triumphal arch, reminds 
us of the council chamber in Gomorrah when J;he "ponderous 
gewgag" was brought forth ; or of a coronation in the pres- 
ent reign of King Mike when canes are "sprung," and cakes 
are cut under clasped hands. In those days the initiate was 
made to rush through the pines and ford the dark Acheron, 
and was carefully taught the signals of distress; signals 
which James Trafton, with work unprepared, the morning 
after his initiation, much to the merriment of the class, pro- 
ceeded to give to his irritated professor by squinting at him 
through his hand. 

Perhaps the most interesting of the Bowdoin customs 
which Mr. Kellogg describes is the "Obsequies of Cal- 

151 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

cuius." This custom was in vogue many years, and a 
headstone can yet be seen upon the campus marking the 
spot where the sacred ashes were consigned to dust. At the 
end of Junior year when Calculus was finished, the Junior 
class gathered in the mathematical room and there deposited 
their copies of Calculus in a coffin. The coffin was then 
borne sorrowfully to the chapel, where amid bitter wailing 
and copious lachrymation a touching eulogy was delivered. 
The orator was wont to discourse of the "gigantic intellect 
of the deceased, his amazing powers of abstraction, his 
accuracy of expression, his undeviating rectitude of con- 
duct," his strict observance of the motto that "The shortest 
distance between two points is a straight line." Then came 
the elegy in Latin, after which, amid the grief-convulsed 
mourners, the coffin was placed upon a vehicle called by the 
vulgar a dump cart, and the noble steed Isosceles, which 
"fed upon binomial theorems, parabolas^ and differentials, 
and every bone of whose body and every hair of whose skin 
was illustrative of either acute or obtuse angles," drew the 
sacred load to its last resting place. The funeral procession, 
consisting of the college band, Bowdoin Artillery, the eulo- 
gist and the elogist, and the Freshman, Sophomore and 
Junior classes, moved slowly down Park Row through the 
principal streets of the village to the rear of the college yard. 
Here the books were "placed upon the funeral pyre and 
burned with sweet odors, the solemn strains of the funeral 
dirge mingling with the crackling of flames. 

"Old Calculus has screwed us hard, 

Has screwed us hard and sore; 
I would he had a worthy bard 

To sing his praises more. 

Peace to thine ashes. Calculus, 

Peace to thy much-tried shade; 
Thy weary task is over now, 

Thy wandering ghost is laid." 



THE STORY OF A BOWDOIN STORY-TEl<I*ER 

"The ashes were collected, placed in an urn, and enclosed 
in the coffin. A salute was then fired bv the Bowdoin 
Artillery. The epitaph, like that upon the grave of the 
three hundred who fell at Thermopylae, was brief but full 
of meaning, having on the tablet at the head, 



on that at the foot 



CAI,CUI.US 



dx 

— = a' 

dy 



But the Whispering Pine books were written for other 
purposes than simply to depict the life of the college or to 
let us into the escapades of the students. The dictum 
that "All art must amuse" did not go far enough for Mr. 
Kellogg. With all his fun and "frolic temper" he was too 
much of a Puritan to make amusement the chief end of his 
writing. His books, I suppose, must belong to the hated 
purpose stories, if to such belong stories written with the 
avowed purpose of making boys more robust and genuine 
and manly, of giving them redder blood and broader chests 
and larger biceps, and at the same time making them hate 
gloss and chicanery and love straightforward, courageous, 
Christian dealing. So imbued was the author with this 
purpose that he wrote his books, as he expressed it, while 
upon his knees. Often at first he felt that he should be 
preaching rather than writing stories ; and it was not until 
letters came to him from all over the countrv that he real- 
ized he was reaching more boys with his pen than with his 
voice. But though written with a purpose, it is noticeable 

153 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

that his books are not of the wishy-washy type. His boys 
are not Miss Nancies and plaster saints. They^ do not die 
young and go to heaven; they Uve and make pretty com- 
panionable kind of men. Mr. Kellogg was too much of a 
story-teller and too strong a believer in truth to distort life 
for ethical purposes. 

One does not have to delve deep to find the lessons which 
he would teach. Choose your chums well, is his advice 
to college boys. College is not simply a place where learn- 
ing is bought and sold, where you pay so much money and 
get so much Greek or so much philosophy. It is more than 
that. Not all college lessons are in your books, neither are 
they all taught in the class-rooms. You will learn them on 
the college paths, in your sports, in your dormitories; and 
generally it is your chums that teach them to you. The 
set of fellows with whom you cast your lot may make or 
mar you. College ties are strong. The bovs with whom 
you eat and sleep : those with whom you solve the difficult 
problems and pick oiit the tangles in Greek and Latin, with 
whom you stroll of an evening to the falls or a Wednesday 
afternoon to the shore, to whom you tell your future plans, 
your love afiL'airs, and your religious doubts, whose sym- 
pathies mingle v/ith yours "like the interlacing of green, 
summer foliage," those fellows are going to mould your 
ideals and determine your character. 

Again, he believed that boys must not be afraid to lock 
horns with an obstacle. A difficult job may be their great- 
est blessing. Richardson coddled at home felt himself a 
weakling by the side of Morton whom difficulties had made 
self-reliant. "Hardship is a wholesome stimulant to 
strong natures, quickening slumbering energies, com- 
pelling effort, and by its salutary discipline reducing refrac- 

154 



THE STORY OF A BOVVDOIN STORY-TELLER 

tory elements." The boy who is always dodg^ing- difficulties 
will make a gingerbread man. Only by grappling can we 
gain power to achieve. Only by having- tough junks to 
split can we learn to "strike right in the middle of the 
knot." 

The value and dignity of labor is the ever recurring bur- 
den of these stories. Mr. Kellogg believed with Carlyle 
that all work is divine, that to labor is to pray. Especially 
did he wish to get out of boys' minds the false notion that 
only mental work is honorable. He thought that often it 
is as honorable to sweat the body as to sweat the brain. As 
honorable and as necessary; for he believed that it is only 
by keeping the lungs full of fresh air, and the pores open 
by perspiration, and the limbs strong by activity, that a man 
can keep his vision from, being distorted. "The essence 
of hoe handle, if persistently taken two hours a day," would, 
he believed, cure many diseases of the mind and heart. 
The devils of fretfulness and faultfinding are not always to 
be cast out simply by prayer and fasting^. Often it requires 
labor in the fresh open air, — a good pull against the tide, a 
long ride on horseback, or an hour's chopping with the nar- 
row axe. Many a disheartened preacher who now mopes 
in his study and who "takes all his texts out of Jeremiah," 
would get "Sunday's harness-marks erased from the brain," 
and preach glad tidings of great joy, if he would only start 
the perspiration by healthful outdoor exercise. Mr. Kellogg 
thought a boy should learn to work with his hands as well 
as with his brain ; to look at things from a farmer's point of 
view as well as from a scholar's. All learning, he knew 
well, is not in school and college. He appreciated the 
value of book-learning, but democrat as he was and well 
acquainted with common people, he knew that an illiterate 

155 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

Jerry William or an Uncle Tim Longley can teach scores of 
valuable lessons to many a schoolman. The boy who is 
too lazy, does not know, or does not want to know, how to 
do some of the practical duties of life, who thinks it disgrace- 
ful to work with his hands, can have no part or lot in his 
kingdom. His ideal college boy is Henry Morton, who 
is a keen debater, a good writer, a lover of the classics and 
a lover of nature but at the same time a man who can hew 
straight to the Ime, cut the corners of many a farmer, and 
take the heart of a tree from more than one woodsman. 

This, I take it, is the prime lesson that he wished the 
hearty, robust lads that live in his books to teach to us, and 
it is the doctrine that Mr. Kellogg lived as well as 
preached. When in Boston at the Seaman's Bethel, he was 
often found in his blue overalls down on the wharves at 
work with the sailors; and for the fifty years he has 
preached in Harpswell he has lived in a house whose timbers 
he cut and hauled himself. There on his farm he has him- 
self cared for his cattle, sowed his seed and harvested his 
crops. Book and pen, boat, scythe and hoe, all have been 
his ready servants in doing God's work. One Sabbath some 
years ago at the close of his sermon he said : "Widow 
Jones's grass I see needs mowing. I shall be there with 
my scythe tomorrow at half past four. I shall be glad to 
see all of you there who wish to come and help me." 

Almost any day's record taken from Mr; Kellogg's jour- 
nal, which I have recently had the privilege of reading, 
shows how beautifully prayer and deed were intermingled 
in his life ; how hand, as well as heart and brain, was made 
to do its part. 

"Friday, Septem.ber 29, 1887. Rose early^ prayed and 
gave thanks. Hauled in the forenoon all the rocks required. 

156 




%dtjp^e-rL ^K^ 




the; story of a bovvdoin story-teller 

Mr. Getchell finished at noon. In the afternoon I took him 
to Brunswick, paid him, got my Hme and sand and got home 
by dark. I have knelt down beside the wall that is now 
finished and humbly thanked God for doing this kindness 
to me, for He has done it. Blessed be God for the mercies 
of this day." 

"Tuesday, October 25, 1887. Rose early. Prayed at the 
hearthstone and the threshold. John came. We sawed, split 
and hauled the wood. The old house windows surprised 
John. We then prepared for horses, and at noon John went 
home. Though pressed with work, I felt prompted to go to 
the burnt tree and went to that and to the old maple and 
thanked God and prayed for little Frank. Made my fires 
and the company began to come. Tliey poured in with 
full hands and warm hearts to the number of eighty or 
more. Surely God's dealing with me in most unthought-of 
ways. Glory to God for the mercies of the twenty-fifth of 
October." 

Seven years ago when Mr. Kellogg's Alma Mater cele- 
brated her one hundredth birthday, from sea and shore her 
children gathered again around her knees. She was proud 
to welcome back her sons who had achieved success in art 
and letters, in medicine, theology, education and statesman- 
ship. As one after another of these successful men arose to 
speak he was applauded generously; but when this little 
farmer-preacher stood up to address them, this crowd of 
Bowdoin men broke forth tumultuously. Then it was easy 
to see how large a place Elijah Kellogg held in their hearts. 

In a style almost conversational, as a father talking to his 
sons, he told the simple story of his life. Effective it was 
indeed, but perhaps not so eloquent as when in 1890, looking 
back over a stretch of half a century, he said : "I stand here 
to-day like an old tree among the younger growth, from 

157 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

whose trunk the bark and limbs have fallen, and whose roots 
are dying in the soil. Then I could stand where the roads 
divide that lead to Mere Point and Maquoit, and hear the 
roar of the Atlantic in one ear and that of the falls of the 
Androscoggin in the other. To-day I have not heard a 
word except the two words 'Bowdoin College.' But there 
is no decrepitude of the spirit. Moons may wax and wane, 
flowers may bloom and wither, but the associations that link 
a student to his intellectual birthplace are eternal." 

In these many lights have Bowdoin men seen Elijah Kel- 
logg. They have known him as a jovial, vivacious, free- 
hearted boy. They have known him as a young preacher 
beloved by his church and as an author of robust and breezy 
books. In later years they have seen him drive into the 
village, sometimes with his old-fashioned wagon piled full 
of bags of potatoes, sometimes with his rack loaded with 
hay and drawn generally by oxen, but now and then by two 
cows or by a cow and ox yoked together. They have 
known him as he has farmed and fished. They have often 
walked down to his church on Sunday afternoons to hear 
him preach. They have known him as a man so generous 
that he was often himself hard pressed; so pure in heart 
that he lived "as seeing Him who is invisible." They 
have known of his ministrations as he has christened the 
children, married the young men and women, soothed the 
sick, consoled the dying, and comforted the mourning of one 
generation after another of ship-builders, fishermen, and 
farmers in his country parish. They have chatted with him 
in the Alpha Delta Phi hall, and they have heard him at 
Sunday chapel services, at Y. M. C. A. meetings and Com- 
mencement dinners. And they have come to see that this 
quaint, unconventional, retiring, simple, eloquent man was 
no ordinary preacher. They have found that somehow he 

158 



the; story of a bowdoin story-ti;lle;r 

could understand them. They could tell him their jokes 
and their serious plans, and he could see through their eyes 
and hear through their ears. They have found that he was 
interested in them not simply as a professional duty but 
because he couldn't help it. They have found that he loved 
boys, that he was happy in their companionship, delighted to 
talk about their work and their sports and to tell tales of his 
own college days. They have found that he, more perhaps 
than any other man they have ever known, was all the time 
at heart a boy himself. And I think that for Bowdoin stu- 
dents to have known a man like Elijah Kellogg, who 
through the rubs and chances of a long life kept his spirit 
young and his heart free from bitterness and guile, has 
helped their faith in God, in themselves, and in each other 
more than many books. 



THE EDUCATION OF JACOB SHAW 

Franklin C. Robinson, '73 



THE EDUCATION OE JACOB SHAW 

WHEN Jacob Shaw went to Bowdoin he was just about 
as green, and inexperienced in life and unformed in 
his character as the majority of Freshmen are; that is, he 
was not green or inexperienced or unformed in character at 
all. It is only a college fiction that Freshmen are thus con- 
stituted. That fiction assumes that all young men who go 
to college have spent their previous years in almost solitary 
confinement, in order that they may get the full benefit of 
ihe college course, and especially, that they may receive with 
due appreciation and openness of mind the firm but proper 
guidance which upper-classmen are prepared to give them. 
In fact, they have been exposed for the sixteen or eig-hteen 
most plastic }ears of their lives to conspicuous and subcon- 
scious influences which ma}', and generally do, affect them 
far more than anything to which college life exposes them. 

College life is oftener the field upon which previously 
learned tactics are executed than the place where these are 
acquired. The reason why this is not more generally recog- 
nized is because subconscious influences are more powerful 
for character formation than any others, and outward action 
may not reveal at once real character. This is not saying 
that one may not be influenced for good or evil by, a college 
course, for very many are, but even then pre-college influ- 
ences have been important factors in the case. 

There didn't seem to be anything about the pre-college 
influences which had acted upon Jacob Shaw to prevent his 
making the highest kind of a success of his college career. 

163 



TAI^liS OF BOWDOIN 

His father was a well-to-Jo lawyer in a moderately sized vil- 
lage of Northern New England, not reckoned wealthy, 
though he probably had more property than he paid taxes 
on; but ihat is not an uncomm.on thing in any community. 
Jacob had always had his necessary expenses paid, and a fair 
amount of pocket money allowed, but his father wanted him 
to learn the value of money and so repressed any ideas of 
extravagance which might appear to be in his son's mind. 
His father had the deserved reputation of getting what he 
wanted, of being "a hard man to beat," etc., and Jacob was, 
of course, exposed to certain family discussions over things 
which came out as his father wanted them to regardless per- 
haps of strict ethical principles, but a boy couldn't be sup- 
posed to be affected by little things of that kind which he 
didn't understand. His father was not a religious man, but 
his mother was. pardon the solecism, I mean she had a 
sufficient stock of goodness on hand to provide for herself 
surely, and probably to pull him through any difficulty which 
might hereafter confront him. She was prominent in 
church affairs, gave liberally to all good objects, and took a 
humble pride in her interest in the poor, and her familiarity 
with certain wealthy families who came every summer to 
occupy cottages on the shore of a neighboring lake. She 
was sorry that her social duties took up so much of her time 
that she had to forego many visits to poor people which she 
would otherwise have made ; that is, she frequently said she 
was sorry and no one of her family disputed her. 

If any two words more than others had been dinned into 
Jacob's ears they were "diligence" and "care." Sending 
him to college was a part of that diligence and care on the 
part of his father, to make him worthy to succeed in and to 
his business. There were no other children in the family so 
his outlook in this direction was the simple and natural one. 

164 



THE KDUCATION OF JACOB SHAW 

His parents supposed they had every reason to believe that 
he would go on at college just as he had at home, and of 
course if he did not it was the fault of the college. They 
were sure of that, and when Mrs. Shaw said it to her hus- 
band at their first meal after she came back from locating 
him, and seeing that his room was properly furnished, he 
nodded a most emphatic approval. 

At about the same hour their son was sitting in his com- 
fortable room in South Maine thinking how nice it was to 
have things one wanted, and how he would enjoy getting 
them himself, for he confessed that he was getting a little 
tired of the home restraint, and rather longed to put into 
practice the precepts there learned. He was well dressed, 
knew the usages of good society, was accomplished some- 
what in music and dancing, in short was one of those fellows 
sure to be vigorously fished by the various college societies. 
All this added a little to his natural complacency and self- 
satisfaction, but after he had accepted what he thought was 
the best offer, he was a little indignant at the lower value 
placed upon his acquaintance. 

He was sorry on the whole to learn that hazing was 
entirely a thing of the past there. He thought he should 
enjoy being "put through" a little. It was on the whole 
attractive to listen to the stories told by the upper-classmen 
of what had been done to them.. He could see by their talk 
how it had gradually passed away, for Seniors had appar- 
ently suffered more than Juniors, and Sophomores least of 
all. Happening to glance over a triennial catalogue of the 
college, and noticing the increasing number of stars oppo- 
site the names, showing members deceased, his first thought 
was that these had been killed by hazing, showing that this 
increase in severity extended gradually back to early times. 

165 



TAI^ES OF BOWDOIN 

He was susprised after this to receive a visit one night 
from a howling crowd of masked men, who made him get up 
and make a speech to them, and then crawl over his bedroom 
door, which was not an easy nor decorous thing to do as he 
was, even with the kind assistance of some of his visitors. 
But his wrath blazed up brightly when some one from the 
back of the room suggested that he sing the hvmn his father 
loved so well, beginning "I dearly love my farmer friends 
for they mortgage their farms to me." But it did no good 
to get mad and they soon left him with the advice to be "a 
good Freshie.'' He didn't feel that he had been treated very 
badly, but was provoked that he hadn't passed through the 
affair as boldly as all those fellows did, who had told him 
of their own experience. He expected that there would be 
a great excitement in college at this revival of hazing but 
there was not. He concluded then that the great secrecy 
with which it was done prevented it from being known to 
the faculty. Afterwards he doubted some whether this 
explanation was the true one. One thing was most aston- 
ishing, and that was how in the excitement of the time, he 
was unable to remember the next day all that happened to 
him that night, but it gradually came back to him with 
increasing minuteness of detail, though it was not till Senior 
year that he remembered the whole of it. Such is some- 
times the effect of shock upon the brain. 

He was a fair scholar and took high rank. He not only 
knew how to recite well but was careful of all other things 
which are supposed to bear on the subject of rank. When 
his professors got to talking on their "specialties," .not 
"hobbies" of course, he was full of attention and wholly 
absorbed in what they were saying, so much so that his 
appearance could hardly fail to attract their notice, and he 
believed that such fleeting appearances were afterwards 

i66 



THE EDUCATION OF JACOB SHAW 

developed and fixed in the form of figures in the rank books, 
but of course they were not. 

His Freshman and Sophomore years were on the whole, 
disappointing, and at their end he had half a mind to leave 
college and begin his law studies. He felt at times that he 
wasn't fully appreciated, and still he couldn't tell just where 
and how. When he came to think it over he concluded to 
stay and finish his course. The thing which really troubled 
him was not so much the lack of consideration given to him, 
as the increased influence of certain others in his class, who 
at first seemed of no account at all. They didn't dress as 
well as he did, were not as polished, and were not fished for 
the leading societies as he was. But somehow they were 
passing him in rank, and besides had a certain blunt way of 
talking, and straight-forward way of acting which irritated 
him. Most of all they got positions which he wanted on 
prize speaking lists, etc. Not that he cared to take part in 
such things for his own sake; he would have got excused 
probably if he had been put on, but it would have made his 
mother feel better to see his name on the program, for 
she was troubled at his decreasing rank in his studies. He 
hardly knew how to deal with such fellows. He knew how 
his father dealt with those who stood in his way, but he 
couldn't just see how such methods could be applied in 
college. How such fellows could lead him in rank he 
couldn't understand at all. The>^ occasionally took "deads" 
in the recitation room, a thing he never did. He flattered 
himself on his self-possession and ready command of Eng- 
lish on all those occasions when he was "pulled" unexpect- 
edly, and felt sure that he had even snatched "ten-strikes" 
as "brands from the burning" several times. A glance at 
the professor's rank book would have told another story 
probably, but of course he couldn't know that. 

167 



TAI^DS OF BOWDOIN 

He also reasoned that Junior and Senior years would 
reinstate him fully in that prominent position in the class 
from which he had fallen. These were the years when his 
society qualities would shine, the years of assemblies and 
society receptions, and of course this less cultivated element 
would be obliged to give way to fellows of his experience in 
such things. He had given up any idea of gaining high 
rank in his class. "There are other and full as important 
things as scholarship to be obtained from a college course, 
things that will help me more in after life." This is what 
he wrote to his mother upon his return to Bowdoin after his 
Sophomore vacation. It was written in explanation of his 
change of feeling, for after numerous talks with her he had 
expressed a determination to try and regain his old position 
in his class in rank. But it was one thing to talk with his 
mother at home and quite another to write to her from his 
college room, where the fact of his position as a Junior 
weighed heavily upon him. To his mother he was still her 
boy, but really he was a Junior, and he was just a little 
impatient that she didn't see the important difference. 

"I shall give the studies all the time they ought to have," 
he went on to say, "have no fear about that, but we are 
taught here to look at things in a broader way, to give each 
element of life its proper weight, to correlate educational 
values in a way you probably could not fully understand. 
Some of our most important lessons are not learned from 
books." That settled it for his mother. She had taught 
.school when a girl, and remembered similar expressions 
heard at educational meetings. She didn't know just what 
they meant but was proud of her son for using them. 

Certain assemblies were planned for that winter at the 
Town Hall and he was put on the committee of arrange- 
ments. He insisted on going quite extensively into decora- 

i68 



the; education of jacob shaw 

tion for the rooms in which they were to be held, thus bring- 
ing into prominence his knowledge of how such things 
should be done. But he was a little chagrined that he had 
forgotten to notify the patronesses and this would have been 
entirely overlooked had not some other member of the com- 
mittee asked him about it. This neglect was due chiefly to 
his contempt for women and girls in general. They were 
necessary of course for homes and social relations. He 
enjoyed seeing them at parties, or on the street, in their best 
clothes, and he was quite a critic of their style, etc. He 
knew how to offer all the little conventional attentions to 
them, but the things which make for their comfort did not 
trouble him much. Of course in due time he expected to 
marr>- one, but that was a very simple matter ; he would 
select carefully the one he wanted. The girls who attended 
the assemblies were partly town girls, and partly girls from 
the neighboring cities. He had not invited any girl for the 
first night. He knew that he would have no difficulty in 
getting all the dances he wanted, and he knew that there 
would be several girls as well as fellows there in the same 
condition. He had never met any of the town girls. He 
had seen some of them in church and had heard the rather 
familiar comment upon them made by the students in the 
galleries. He thus expected to find them anxious for stu- 
dent attentions, and ready to flirt. Now this matter of 
flirtation had not previously troubled him, but was, as he 
now conceived, a necessary part of that "broader culture'^ 
which he had written about, and he made up his mind that 
he must have the experience of it, and here was the chance 
to begin. 

He was not a little surprised at the decided repulse his 
first efforts in that line met. He selected one of the most 
attractive and stylish of the town girls, secured some dances 

169 



TAI^eS OF BOWDOIN 

with her and made rapid progress in his acquaintance, but 
he soon learned that the sHghtest attempt of his to cross the 
boundary line between pleasant acquaintance and impro- 
priety was decidedly checked, and after that there were no 
vacant dances on her order for him. 

He then turned his attention in other directions but for 
some time with a like result. There were however a cer- 
tain number of girls there of a much younger set, and some 
of these were seemingly much pleased with his appreciation 
of their charms, and flattered at his preference of them to 
the older girls. These "older girls" had reached the 
advanced age of nineteen or twenty perhaps, and were of 
course so near to being old maids that they could hardly 
hope to compete in attractiveness with girls of from four- 
teen to sixteen. But there was not quite the satisfaction 
he expected from flirting with the latter. They didn't know 
any better and that took away at least half the fun for him. 
Flirting seems to be an indulgence which owes its chief zest 
to mutual recognition of what they are doing by those who 
practice it. 

He wound up the evening by escorting home one of these 
young girls, and felt well satisfied with his progress, when 
she lingered with him a few minutes before going in, and 
made no distinct protest when he left her with certain pro- 
nounced squeezings of her little hand. He did not know 
that she went into the house with such extra color in her 
face that she did not care to go into the sittine^-room where 
she knew her mother was waiting for her, but went directly 
to her own room. 

Before the next assembly he had called upon Ellen Wallis 
and engaged her for the rest of the course. By the time 
these assemblies were over he flattered himself that he had 
been getting just the kind of experience he wanted, even. 

170 



I 



THE EDUCATION OF JACOB SHAW 

though Ellen seemed to be taking- his attentions rather too 
seriously. He thought at first he would "run her,'' to quote 
his elegant expression to some of "the fellows," during that 
season and then get another girl for Senior year. But she 
was pretty and attractive and seemed so fond of him that he 
rather enjoyed going with her, and especially the evenings 
he spent at her home. Her parents were good people of 
moderate means, and evidently flattered that their daughter 
had captured the son of such a prominent man as Squire 
Shaw of Boltville. He enjoyed talking to them, and if he 
did this in something of a learned and patronizing manner 
they were certainly not offended, but listened with the most 
perfect absorption in what he was saying, and Mr. Wallis 
expressed what seemed to be the family opinion when he 
said that "he guessed some of the college professors didn't 
find it an easy job to teach him ;" and really they didn't, 
though not for the reason Mr. Wallis thought. 

Thus almost in spite of himself the acquaintance grew 
more and more intimate. Of course he was careful not to 
really make love to her, or become engaged, but he could see 
that the fruit was ready to be picked any time he might put 
out his hand. Once or twice he nearly forgot himself, but 
recovered in time. And yet Ellen Wallis was not a silly g^rl 
by any means. On the contrary she was sensible and mod- 
est, but somehow had started in on her young womanhood 
with false notions. Indeed her modesty was something of 
a disappointment to Jacob. His first meeting with her gave 
some promise, not to say hope, of familiarity which had not 
been fulfilled. Thus while he was as ready as ever to talk 
with the boys about the indiscretions of the town girls, he 
more than questioned with himself whether this talk had any 
real basis of fact. 

171 



TAI^lvS OF BOWDOIN 

His Senior year began with things in this condition, and 
despite several efforts to break off the intimacy, it ended with 
them very much the same. She was a pretty girl and when- 
ever it seemed as though he had left her some other young 
man was sure to begin to pay attention to her. This would 
call him back to her side, and he would be received by the 
family with such manifestation of joy that even if Ellen 
herself was a little cold in her welcome at first, her coldness 
soon gave place to more than the original warmth. 

His college course Avas closinp- in other respects as could 
have been predicted. His rank in his studies had gone 
steadily down until he would graduate somewhere in the 
lower half of his class. But he had the same smooth and 
polished appearance albeit there was that in his looks which 
suggested that in his search for "broader experience" he had 
spent some evenings, at least, outside his college room or 
the Wallis home. But the character of these last experi- 
ences could not but impress him even in a way he had not 
thought possible. There was the Last Chapel exercise on 
Ivy Day from which, after the impressive prayer from the 
President, his class had marched slowly out singing "Auld 
Lang Syne." Before the slow marching brought him to the 
door the thought of what he ought to have remembered of 
his college course, and what he actually did remember came 
to him with great force, and when the last cheer at the door 
was over he caught himself wiping away the tears which he 
could not control. 

He passed that evening with Ellen and her family and all 
were much moved and edified at his solemn talk about his 
wasted opportunities. It is true they didn't believe but what 
he had done everything to make his college course a success, 
and knew it had been, but they liked to hear his humble talk, 
it gave almost the air of a prayer-meeting to their house 

172 



THK EDUCATION 01' JACOB SHAW 

and wenr far to quiet their consciences concerning recent 
neglect of attendance upon such services. Next morning 
at the breakfast table Mrs. Wallis referred to the evening's 
discourse and expressed her belief that Mr. Shaw would go 
intc the ministry. "And how would our Ellen like to be a 
minister's wife?" she said with a sly look at her daughter. 
Ellen pretended not to understand what her mother meant. 

"I don't see any connection between Mr. Shaw's being a 
minister and my being a minister's wife" she said a little 
sharply. 

"The connection is plain enough to every one else," said 
her mother slightly irritated, "and if it isn't to you it ought 
to be." 

"I won't be talked to in that way" said Ellen as she arose 
from the table and passed angrily out of the room. 

The truth was that she herself was troubled and nervous. 
She had become strongly attached to Jacob, and, if she 
didn't actually love him she thought she did. She had 
questioned in her own heart whether he was treating her 
right, but she didn't want anyone else to suggest the idea 
to her. 

Class Day was to close with the usual Dance upon the 
Green. The beautiful campus had been decorated with 
Chinese lanterns and flags, and the evening was one of those 
rare ones which June sometimes provides for such an occa- 
sion in order to show what she can do, regardless of the fact 
that it will prove a kind of ignis fatuus to lure other classes 
on to their destruction. 

Jacob was chairman of the committee of arrangements, 
and to his persistency was due the decision of the class to 
try it once more in spite of several years of failure. He 
seemed to believe that he had been able to produce the good 
weather also, and was full of joy at the promised success. 

173 



tai,e;s of bowdoin 

It went far to compensate him for the failure of so many of 
his plans. Of course he took Ellen to the dance, but they 
didn't remain all the time on the floor. It was so beautiful 
to stroll around the campus paths. It was like a scene from 
fairyland to look back at the dancers around the Oak, appar- 
ently gliding in and out among the trees. It seemed to 
Jacob also that he was looking upon the last passing glories 
of his college course. It typified that course to him. He 
had made it a time of selfish enjoyment, of personal gratifi- 
cation, and soon it would be wholly a thing of the past, 
would fade away like this scene on the campus, of which the 
morrow would find nothing but the unsightly debris scat- 
tered over the ground. 

This thought carried him out of himself for a moment, 
or brought to the surface of his being that better self which 
had not been wholly destroyed. "And shall I crown all my 
other unfaithfulness by being false to Ellen also? Is not 
this an opportunity for me to recover my lost ground? to 
retrieve myself ? and if not now what hope for me ?" With 
the sudden impulse born of this resolution he seized her 
hand and told her in passionate terms of his great desire that 
she would not let him go away from college without the 
hope that he might sometime return and make her his wife. 
He protested his own unworthiness, and begged that she 
would not send him away to worse failure in the future, for 
he was sure that there was no hope for him unless he had 
the strength of her love to help him. 

It is needless to say that he did not have to wait long for 
a favorable reply from Ellen, and after some precious min- 
utes which lengthened into nearly an hour they returned to 
the dance, which no longer seemed to him to typify the 
rapidly passing surface pleasures he had enjoyed but the 
glorious opening of a brilliant future. 



THR EDUCATION OF JACOB SHAW 

His mother came to Brunswick for Commencement Day, 
but there were so many things for her to see that there was 
not time to explain to her the new relations he had entered 
into. She was also impatient to take him home aeain. She 
laid the blame of his non-success in a literary line to the 
college and the town, and wanted nothing to do with either 
of them further. They met one or two couples strolling 
about the campus, and upon his telling her that they were 
studen^ts and town girls who had become engaged, she told 
him how glad she was that he had not been so foolish. Of 
course he would explain later, but evidently it would not 
be opportune to say anything about Ellen to her then. 

Ellen readily excused him for devoting his whole time 
that day to his mother. She was so supremely happy that 
no cloud could come between her and the sun of her love 
without being instantly dissipated. They had a tender part- 
ing when he finally left for home, and he promised an early 
return to make a few days' visit when publicity would be 
given to their engagement. 

When a young man ends the college life and goes back 
to his native town, it seems to him that more than twice 
four years have passed since he left it. He may have spent 
every vacation at home and made many visits during term 
time, but still he has not kept in touch with it as he did 
before. His interests have been elsewhere and though he 
may have known of every important change there, he has 
not actually taken them in. Only when he finally comes back 
does he realize what changes the years have made. It 
seemed to Jacob as he began to go about and renew old asso- 
ciations in Boltville, that it was an entirely new place. 

''So it seems that old Shanly is dead" he said at the dinner 
table one day. 

175 



TALUS OF BOWDOIN 

"Why, Jacob, you knew that he died nearly four years 
ago," said his mother. 

"I suppose I did, but I had forgotten it." And so one 
after another of the things that had happened in the town 
while he was in college came to his attention now as though 
for the first time. 

He seemed almost offended at the important changes. 
He seemed to think that everything ought to have remained 
just as it was until after he had finished his education. 

Possibly the carrying out of certain resolves he had made 
to mingle more with the town's people than he used to 
helped make the changes in town more noticeable to him. 
For he was full of his new love and hope and anxious to get 
established in business as rapidly as possible in order to 
warrant getting married. 

He wrote often to Ellen telling her of his devotion to law 
books and how he was becoming acquainted with his "future 
clients." 

"They are not such disagreeable people after all," he 
wrote. "Of course they are ignorant and do lots of things 
because of it, but they are thrifty and most of them have a 
little money laid up, and I am sure there is a good opening 
for me to get a living here even while the 'old man' is active, 
and of course when he gives up I shall have the whole." 
He told her many of his funny adventures. It is true they 
were actually not so very funny, but things didn't have to be 
absorbingly interesting in themselves in order to be appre- 
ciated by the lovers. 

The widow Shanly and her son Billy served to fill up 
many of those necessary spaces in his letters between the 
reiterated expressions of his love and devotion. "She is 
sort of a religious crank" he explained, "and lives with her 
half idiotic son on an old farm with tumbledown buildings 

176 



IHE; liDUCATlON OF JACOB SHAW 

out on the road where I go to the pond for fishing. It is a 
short cut across their pasture to the pon^ and one day I was 
in such a hurry that I left the bars down, and when I came 
back I saw that some of their cattle had got out and gone 
into a patch of sweet corn and had nearly ruined it. It was 
great fun to see the old woman trying to drive them out. 
They would run this way and that, and she after them with 
a broom in her hand and all the time yelling for Billy in a 
thin, squeaky voice. I nearly died laughing to see her 
antics. I thmk it didn't make her feel any better to see me 
laughing at her." There was little wonder that Mrs. 
Shanly was excited, for it was on this piece of corn that she 
was depending to get money to pay the interest on a mort- 
gage held by Jacob's father. 

Weeks went by without the promised visit to his fiancee, 
but there was no change in the character of his letters, and 
though Ellen gently chided him for his failure to carry out 
his first plans, still she felt more solicitude for his health 
because of overwork than for her own pleasure. Her replies 
to her lover's letters were such as would be expected. Her 
sense of triumph and satisfaction was so complete that, 
beyond ardent expressions of her desire to see him, she said 
little of his continued delay. After his account of his 
experience with Mrs. Shanly and the cattle, she said in one 
of her letters, '"1 read your interesting description of Mrs. 
Shanly and her funny actions, to mother, and she was much 
amused at it, though of course the telling of such a thing is 
never quite so interesting as the seeing it. Then, too, 
mother remembered that one of her girl friends married a 
Shanly, though of course this wasn't the one, and that 
seemed to prevent her from enjoying the story as much as I 
did. I shan't read to her any more of your adventures until 
she teases me real hard, and that will pay her for almost 
K 177 



TAI^ES OF BOWDOIN 

disapproving what you did. But it was so comical, wasn't 
it? I have read it over many times since, and each time 
enjoy it better." This latter statement was not strictly true, 
but she felt after what she had said about her mother, that 
she must emphasize her own oneness with him in sympathy 
and appreciation. 

Meanwhile Mrs. Shaw began to suspect that her son had 
some attachment or other to his college town not of a 
literary nature. She noticed the frequent letters he got 
from Brunswick and, though Ellen had cultivated a certain 
masculine style of penm.anship, it did not wholly allay the 
suspicion that the address was written by a feminine hand. 
Not that Ellen made any effort at concealment, she never 
thought of such a thing. It happened to be a fad among 
her girl friends at that time to write in that way. She was 
even slightly troubled that many of his letters were posted 
at some neighboring town, and failed to take the hint when 
he suggested, jocosely, that she follow his example. It was 
such fun, he said, when one was out riding and passed a 
post office, to jump out and mail a letter. It made people 
think one had a large business correspondence. A sus- 
picion of what was going on was no sooner entertained by 
Mrs. Shaw than attempts were made to verify or disprove it. 
Such attempts of course soon brought out the truth. At 
first she was wild with anger and grief. She thought she 
would go to him and upbraid him as an undutiful son and 
make him give up the prospect of such an unworthy or 
unfitting, which meant the same thing to her, alliance. "To 
think of it," she said to her husband, "that our boy should 
have been led away by such a designing creature." Thus 
the college fell still lower in her estimation. Her idea 
seemed to be that the office of a college was, like that of a 
sausage machine, to stuff the skins of young men full of 

178 



THE EDUCATION OF JACOB SHAW 

properly minced and seasoned material and make them 
into "strings," each individual "link" of which was to be 
cut oft at Commencement time, and given, smooth and 
plump and unctuous, into the hands of expectant parents. 

But Squire Shaw was full of worldly experience. He 
was no less angry at the discovery, but he felt that the better 
way to accomplish their wishes was to ignore their knowl- 
edge of Jacob's engagement, as far as he was concerned. 
''The best way to fight fire on a meadow is to back fire it," 
he craftily said. "If it's a girl he wants, let's get one here 
for him. An air-tight stove is more effective to warm a 
man on a cold night than all the stars in the sky, for he can 
get closer to it. Who is there you can invite to make a visit 
to you this Winter?" Mrs. Shaw saw the drift of his 
remarks but did not wholly approve of the plan. She was 
close in money matters and rather indolent, and a young 
lady visitor meant parties and much trouble and expense. 
But in the end she bowed to the greater wisdom Oif her 
spouse and after some trouble fixed on a young lady of good 
family and some property whose acquaintance she had made 
through one of the Summer colony which spent few weeks 
each year on the shore of the lake. 

To Alice Sprague she wrote a letter strongly urging her 
to come and spend some weeks with her. "You have never 
seen Boltville in Winter. It will make your next Summer 
visit all the more delightful when you can compare it with a 
Winter one." She said nothing about her grown-up son 
being at home, indeed Alice did not know she had a son. 
She had spent only one Summer at the lake, and Jacob was 
not at home and if he had been she might not have met him. 
She herself had just graduated from college and was full of 
enthusiasm for college settlement and other good works of 
that kind, and hence had been much interested in Mrs. 

179 



TAI,ES OF BOWDOIN 

Shaw's account of the benevolent work she did in the town 
and the great need of doing more of it. Like many city- 
people she had a general idea that most country folk were 
to be greatly pitied, because of their primitive condition and 
lack of comforts of life. She could see how by the help of 
the Summer visitors they managed to eke out a picturesque 
existence in the Summer, but "what could such people do in 
the Winter?" This visit might show her and she would at 
least get material for "talks" on the subject at the ladies' 
club, so she accepted the kind invitation and before long was 
on the ground. 

She was much more stylish than Ellen Wallis, and could 
talk better, and Jacob could not but make the sugsrested 
comparison, which resulted not to Ellen's advantage. He 
didn't realize at all that he himself was the cause in great 
part of Ellen's lack of more educational advantages. He 
had put foolish notions into her young head, talked to her 
and her parents learnedly about the greater need there was 
that "women should cultivate domesticity instead of aping 
men in literary pursuits," so that she had given up the ideas 
she once had of going to college herself, and now he 
mentally blamed her that she did not compare favorably 
with this bright and cultivated girl. 

To complete the scheme, when it was evident that the 
"air-tight was working as Mr. Shaw had predicted, Mrs. 
Shaw caused it to be known in Brunswick that her son 
Jacob was engaged, or likely soon to be, to a certain culti- 
vated and attractive girl then visiting in Boltville. This had 
the desired result, a letter of gentle inquiry from Ellen, a 
complaint of her lack of faith from him, and soon a breaking 
of the engagement. 

The result was one more "college widow," one more 
young man freed from embarrassment, and one more father 

i8o 



THK EDUCATION OF JACOB SHAW 

and mother congratulating themselves on their shrewdness 
in promoting their son's best interests. 

Now he was free to use the result of his "experience" in 
another case. But alas ! like many another experiment, the 
conditions were not similar and the results not corre- 
spondent at first. The wooing of Alice Sprague was a very 
different matter. She was responsive to all other sensations, 
but not to that of love. She took long rides with him alone, 
a thing she would never have done with a young man at her 
own home. Bui "it was so delightful to disregard for the 
time such conventionalities and be just like the other country 
girls." This is what she wrote to her college chum. 

She went skating ; she made calls ; she even insisted that 
she be allowed to visit the Shanlys and did so, though Mrs. 
Shaw did not accompany her but had the coachman take her 
there and wait for her. She took copious notes of all she 
saw that was novel and felt as though she would spring a 
genuine sensation when she returned to her home. All the 
time she persisted in treating Jacob as a boy, much to his 
inward wrath. Jacob was desperately in love with her, and 
she must have seen it, but somehow he never could get up 
his courage to actually make love to her, though his mother 
contrived all sorts of opportunities for them to be alone in 
suitable situations. Just before she went home she seemed 
a trifle more responsive as he thought, and as she promised 
to come the next Summer, he felt that he was sure to win in 
the end. 

He wrote to her and she answered his letters, telling" him 
how much she enjoyed her visit and with what interest her 
■ description of life in the country in Winter had been received 
at the clubs where she had given it. "I really am getting 
more and more interested in it myself, and am almost sure 
that if other country towns are like Boltville, I should be 

i8i 



TALRS OF BOWDOIN 

quite contented to live all the time in one." This admission 
seemed so significant to Jacob that his ardor was kindled 
afresh, and he looked forward with almost feverish impa- 
tience to her coming the next Summer. It tended also to 
confirm his earlier notions about girls, notions which had 
received some slight shock from the quickness with which 
Ellen had given him his freedom, and Alice's general treat- 
ment of him. 

But her Summer coming was on the whole an illustration, 
of the old saying about anticipation and realization. She 
was glad to see him but quite unaccountable in her behavior 
to him. Sometimes she was cold and unresponsive and at 
others quite the reverse. She would not go with him as 
freely as she did in the Winter, but his mother told him that 
that w^as favorable rather than otherwise. His greatest dis- 
appointment was that she would not go rowing with him in 
the new boat he had bought, and fitted with cushions, and 
made in every way as attractive as possible. Something 
always seemed to stand m the way when he would try to 
arrange a time. "Don't try to plan ahead for such a thing," 
she w^ould say, "I am enjoying the present so much that I 
can't bear to look even a day into the future. Just come 
over when you feel like going and if I can arrange it I will 
go." But somehow she never could arrange to go, at least 
for any long trip. She had at times been able to get in and 
go for a short row, but never to the other side of the lake 
where he wanted to take her. As the time drew near for 
the party to break up she seemed at times almost rude to 
him, and was especially so two or three days before, when 
he had made her a call. 

On the evening before she was to go home she had wan- 
dered down to the shore of the lake and was taking a last 
farewell look at its evening beauties. Where on earth are 

182 



THE EDUCATION OF JACOB SHAW 

there such beauties and such influences as come from the 
scene before her? It was not the boundless ocean which 
speaks of endless striving and endeavor, which wakens 
ambition to go on and on in never ending labor, even to 
eternity. It was a definitely limited expanse of water shut 
in by the hills, with a further shore just far enough off to 
have its exact contour hidden, leaving suitable scope for the 
imagination to speculate as to just what was there, but 
making it sure that no startling discovery, could possibly be 
made by visiting it. Such a place is of all others the one to 
bring thoughts of earthly love and contentment. Alice, too, 
had been long enough out of college to get back again in 
great measure to the realities of life, to see its limitations, 
and be more willing to take up its plain duties feeling sure 
that great privileges would come also with these. She was 
slightly aroused from her revery by the grating of a boat's 
keel upon the shore near, and turning her head saw that 
Jacob Shaw was its occupant. 

"I have been watching you for some little time," he said, 
"and thought I would see how near I could get without 
attracting your notice. I believe you would have sat there 
all night without moving if my boat had not touched the 
shore. Come, now, get in and let's take a last little row." 

He said this with such an almost hopeless tone that she 
assented without a word of objection, and soon they were 
gently moving along in the shadows close by the shore. 
"Stop rowing," she soon said, "this is too beautiful to dis- 
turb. The glassy surface of the water and the stillness 
protest in the strongest possible way at even the slight dis- 
turbance we make." He rested on his oars and both gazed 
for a while in silence and apparently in full sympathy with 
the scene. 

183 



TAI,KS OF BOWDOIN 

"Biit yet," he finally said, "this is an unnatural condition 
and cannot and ought not to last lon^. The true and best 
condition of life is one of effort, mutual effort. Notice how 
the little waves we make go in pairs out into the moonlight 
in ever widening circles, one just behind and close to 
another, and see hov; much brighter and more beautiful the 
path they make than the previous glassy surface they have 
broken in upon." 

"Quite a poetic idea," she replied, as if for the first time 
aroused from a lethargy and coming to her old self, "but I 
don't just like that idea of tagging along behind each other. 
It is too much like the Irish couples I see going to early 
mass in the city." 

"O Alice, do be serious on this, the last evening ypu will 
be here," he quickly added in a tone as though hurt by her 
words. 

"Pardon me, I should not have spoken so, I suppose. I 
do not wish to hurt your feelings. But come, we must go 
ashore, for I make an early start in the morning. It was 
imprudent in me to have gotten into the boat at all." 

"Not till I have told you of my great love, and how neces- 
sary you are to my happiness. I came this evening deter- 
mined to do so and must not, cannot, keep back the words 
which come to my lips. Only say you are not wholly 
indifferent to me and give me some hope that I may in the 
future win your love if I have not now." He spoke with 
great earnestness, dropping the oars and clasping his hands 
to emphasize his appeal. 

She looked, as indeed she felt, greatly disturbed. "I am 
sorry for this," she finally said, "but I know I am partly 
responsible. I should not have given you the opportunity, 
but now that it has been said I will speak frankly. What 
you ask can never be. You can see clearly that I do not 

184 



THE EDUCATION OF JACOB SHAW 

love you now and I am sure that T never could g^row to do 
so. I am not blind, I have seen for some time that you 
thought you loved me, l)ut I did not believe vour feeling 
was so strong as your words show. I feel sure, however, 
that it is a temporary condition with you and will pass away 
as perhaps it has done before in your life. Come, we must 
go avshore." She spoke with such firmness and self-com- 
posure that he saw that further words were useless, and as 
if dazed prepared to comply with her wishes, but when he 
came to look for his oars he found that, as if typical of his 
experience, they had both floated out into the darkness 
beyond his reach, and he was compelled to make the best 
progress he could by using an old piece of board for a 
paddle. 

The boat had hardly touched the shore when Alice 
jumped out and without a word ran up the steps of the 
cottage and into the house with m.ingled feelings of regret 
and satisfaction. 

Jacob fastened his boat and started to walk home. Per- 
haps he remembered that evening a little more than a year 
ago when the brilliantly decorated campus spoke to him so 
eloquently of his bright prospects, while now the dark 
shadows from the sinking moon, and the obscure path 
before him suggested his baffled endeavors and uncertain 
future. He passed through the Shanlys' pasture and down 
by their house. Just as he was passing it he stopped sud- 
denly. "What did she mean by saying I had possibly passed 
through such a condition before? Could she in any way 
have heard of Ellen Wallis? If she had, you told her," 
and he shook his fist angrily in the direction of the house. 
Of course tlte inherent absurdity of that idea came at once 
to his mind and he continued his progress home. 

185 



TAI^ES OF BOWDOIN 

Sometime in the middle of the next forenoon his mother 
found him in the office busy apparently in the study of a 
law book. "Why, Jacob," she said, "you oug-ht not to stick 
so close to these dry books. I know you said g'ood-bye to 
Alice last night, but I supposed of course you would want 
to go to the train and see her off this morning. Remember 
what you once wrote me from college, one gets some of the 
most important parts of his education from other sources 
than books." He turned impatiently in his chair and made 
no reply, but he agreed with her, just the same. 



A SMOKE TALK IN No. 7 

CivARENCE B. Burleigh, '87 



A SMOKE TALK IN NO. 7 

LON Remick was standing before the mirror in the 
bedroom of his apartments at No. 7, preparing him- 
self for the closing Geiman in Lemont hall. His room- 
mate, Cal Burke, who "hated functions," lounged in the 
doorway and watched the operation with languid interest. 
He was evidently in a nagging spirit that evening, and his 
somewhat personal comments did not tend to impart an 
atmosphere of serenity to the occasion. 

''Well, you do look scrumptious, old man," he said. 
'How purple and fine linen do become you — and the girls, 
what one of them could resist you ? My blessings go with 
you, my boy, and be sure you bring home all your favors. 
I'm planning to work out our society letters with them and 
hang them over this doorway." 

"You may have all I get, and welcome, if you'll only 
help me on with this confounded collar. I'm late now," 
responded Lon impatiently. 

Cal took up the collar and looked at it with a quizzical 
smile. It was in the fleeting and somewhat exaggerated 
style of the time, with points that began to turn back from 
under the ears, and tips that rested well down upon the 
shoulder blades. 

"Great Caesar's ghost! where did you get that?" he 
demanded. 

"Why, that's the latest thing. Haven't vou seen them 
yet?" 

180 



TAI^ES OF BOWDOIN 

"Certainly, my boy. There's nothing new about them. 
My great-grandfather wouldn't wear anything else. The 
last one I particularly noticed adorned the end man in a 
minstrel show Alas for the duplicity that would prey 
upon bucolic innocence ! I plainly see that the good name 
of this room makes it my solemn duty to go out and kill 
someone — and who sold it to you?" 

"Oh, come off, old man," laughed Remick. "Be serious 
for once in your life, if you can. Now tdl me, honest 
injun, v/hat do you think of it?" and he frankly lifte;d a 
somewhat perplexed face to his room-mate, who, having 
buttoned the collar in place, had stepped back a few paces, 
and was viewing it with a simulated dignity of criticism that 
was belied by twinkling eyes and twitching mouth corners. 

Remick's face flushed. "You don't like it," he said 
uneasily. "Why don't you say it ? You think it looks like 
the—" 

"Easy, old man," interrupted Burke. "I haven't objected 
to it in the least. I am dazzled but not overcome. Verily 
I say to you, my boy, that in my humble opinion Solomon 
in all his glory never had an outfit like that. Is there any- 
thing more I can do for you?" 

"No, thanks. I'll excuse you now," said Remick, a little 
stiffly. "I see you are in one of your humorous moods 
tonight." 

"Never more serious in my life," said Burke with mock 
solemnity, as he retired to the study room so quietly that 
Remick, who was once more viewing himself in the mirror, 
failed to note his departure. 

"I swear, I'm a good mind not to wear it — Why — er — 
hullo. Pegs!" 

Remick turned to meet the smiling face of "Pegs" Derrill, 
who stood in the doorway his room-mate had just vacated. 

190 



A SMOKE TALK IN NO. 7 

His presence on this particular occasion was not altogether 
welcome, and made Eemick feel decidedly uncomfortable. 

Pegs looked him over slowly with critical gravity until 
his eye rested upon the collar, then stuffing his handkerchief 
into his mouth to stifle a giggle, turned abruptly back into 
the study room. 

"Confound his impudence," muttered Remick between his 
teeth. "I'll make him eat dog some day to pay for that." 
He turned to complete his toilet; but not in peace. Pegs 
was the first of a procession which filed into the study^ one 
by one, paused by the bedroom door to bestow an apprecia- 
tive smile upon Remick's new collar, and then grouped 
themselves in lounging attitudes about the open fire in an 
interchange of college opinions and anecdotes. 

No word was spoken to Remick ; but he was by no means 
ijisensible to the pantomime of which he was the victim. 
The big collar was securely in place; but the boy who a 
little later bore it in frigid dignity among the grinning 
group in the study was decidedly "off his moorings." He 
drew himself up proudly, faced his tormentprs with a 
flushed countenance, and addressed them with chilling for- 
mality. 

"Really, gentlemen, so unimportant a person as myself is 
scarcely worthy of all this attention," he said. "I certainly 
regret the trouble I have evidently put you to. If you will 
kindly complete your inspection, and pass your criticisms, I 
will bid you good night." 

"What's the matter with Lon ?" demanded Burke. 

"He's all right," was the chorused response, accompanied 
with a pedal emphasis that shook the blower from the 
standard grate, and made the bric-a-brac rattle upon the 
mantel and desk tops. 

191 



TALEvS OF BOWDOIN 

"Thanks," said Remick with sarcastic brevity. "Come!" 
he added, in a louder tone, in answer to a knock from 
the hallway,. The door opened to admit the bulky form and 
good-natured face of Cutty Norton, the college catcher. 

"Anything, private ?" he asked as his eye rested upon the 
group. 

"No," said Burke, "only an End mass meeting. Lon is 
going to represent us at the German tonight — and we 
wanted to make sure that he was in good form. Now look 
him over, with your usual good taste, and see if he isn't a 
credit to his class and delegation." 

"Our sacred honor couldn't be in better keeping," smiled 
Cutty. "By tJie way, Lon, I just came from Stetson's store 
and left the proprietor reading the riot act to that French 
clerk of his. It seems that you had inquired for something 
new in collars. The boy knew there were none in stock; 
but he remembered having seen a box of that description 
among the attic archives — and so he dug it out and sold you 
one. You see the present styje is a renaissance; all the go 
thirty years ago. A little accentuated — ^that's all. Stetson 
is awfully cut up over it ; says if you'll return the collar he'll 
refund your money." 

A roar of laughter greeted this announcement. 

"Very well done, indeed," sneered Remick coldly, as he 
drew on his gloves. "I presume this is the climax. Bah! 
this is certainly edifying. However, I am glad if I have 
been able to contribute in ever so humble a way to ypur 
entertainment, gentlemen." 

"I really don't know what you're talking about," said 
Cutty blankly, as he looked about him in evident amaze- 
ment. "What I have told you is a fact." 

The big catcher was no actor, and it was apparent to all 
that he spoke the truth. 

192 



A SMOKE TALK IN NO. 7 

Without a word Remick returned to the bedroom and 
tore off the offending collar. When he had arrayed himself 
in one less pronounced, he came back into the study and 
laid a box of cigars upon the center table. Then turning 
his back upon the smiling group, whose members forebore 
further comment, he passed out into the hallway, slamming 
the d(X)r behind him with an emphasis that voiced his 
chagrin more eloquently than words. 

"Phew! Lon's just a trifle hot," laughed Cal when he 
was gone. "Do you know, fellows, I never once suspected 
but what that collar was strictly a la mode. It generally 
takes about two or three months, you know, for a new style 
to make its way from Boston to Brunswick." 

"I couldn't imagine what I'd run into," said Cutty. "I 
didn't know you'd been stringing him." 

"It was quite impromptu. That collar was irresistible. 
I gave Pegs the tip and he passed the word to the boys in 
the End ; but did you get on to the look in Lon's face when 
he saw that Cutty was giving it to him straight? It was a 
little rough on the old boy, but I owe him one for the way 
he let me down last week." 

"How was that ?" asked Cutty, scenting a story. 

"Yes, ler's have it, old man," came from several other 
members of the group. 

"Well, before I get to that, permit me" — and Cal g-ravely 
passed around the box of cigars. "I won't vouch for the 
quality of these," he said. "Lon bought them of a Jew 
peddler the other day ; gave him nearly twenty-five dollars 
worth of second-hand clothing for them. I haven't seen my 
mackintosh, either, since the deal ; but he swears by all that's 
good and holy that it wasn't included in it." 

"Speaking of Jew peddlers," drawled Pod Bennett as he 
blew a ring of smoke from his freshly lighted cigar and 
^ 193 



TALKS OF BOWDOIN 

lazily watched it curl towards the ceiling, "you've had some 
recent experience with that fraternity, haven't you. Pegs?" 

"How did you know about that?" 

"Oh, the fellows are all on to it. You might as well 
make a clean breast of it here in the bosom of the family." 

"What is it, old man ?" "let's have it !" "fire away" — came 
simultaneously from different members of the group. 

"Why, there isn't much to it," said Pegs slowly. "One 
of them sold me a rug the other day ; said it was a handsome 
Smyrna, and a bargain at twenty-five dollars. I let him 
have all the old clothing I'd accumulated during the course 
for it — and you know I had a choice and varied collection. 
While he was still doing the End I had occasion to go down 
town, and saw one of those very rugs in Stetson's window 
marked a dollar and ninety-five cents." 

"Probably a cheap imitation of your valuable original," 
said Dan Pickett soothingly. 

"It would have been comforting if I could have believed 
so ; but a close examination convinced me that it was of the 
same vintage." 

" 'Vintage' is good," laughed Rex Brown approvingly. 

"Silence, tiifler," ordered "Judge" Ransom with mock 
solemnity. "Let the brother state his experience. Confes- 
sion expandeth the soul." 

"Well, I was a little warm," continued Pegs, ignoring the 
interruption, "and I came back to the End determined to 
have those clothes back or take satisfaction out of the fel- 
low's hide; but I was too late." 

"Had the bird flown ?" asked Shorty Dixon. 

"No, but the clothes had. I set out to thump the rascal 
once for luck, but what do you suppose he did?" 

"Settled in cash," ventured Punk Davis. 

194 



A smoke; talk in no. 7 

"Rats !" was Peg's sententious comment. "He backed up 
in a corner of the room and stood me ofif with a knife. He 
protested that he had told me nothing but 'der blain druth' 
and that my rug was 'veil vorth efery tollar it gost me, so 
hellup him hemill.' " 

"Why didn't you get some of the fellows together and 
rush him?" asked Cal, 

"Why, I didn't consider the game worth the candle. I 
presume he was bluffing. Still I thought it was best not to 
take any chances. A man must expect to pay something, 
you know, for a college education." 

"And didn't you get back at him at all?" sighed Cutty 
regretfully. 

"Yes, in a way. I managed, with the help of the fellows, 
to get about a tub of water onto him when he left the End. 
Of course it didn't bring back the clothes, but still I slept 
better for it." 

"There are many things in a college course that are not 
dreamed of in the curriculum," said the Judge wisely. 

"True for you, Sir Oracle," assented Rex. "but why all 
this digression? If T remember correctly, Cal was booked 
to tell us why he had it in for Lon tonight." 

"Oh, there isn't much to that," said Cal. "I had a visit 
last week from a great-aunt of mine. She was on her wav 
to Boston, and had planned to leave her son, a boy of about 
fourteen years of age, with me during the week of her visit 
there. The old lady is a Puritan of the ancient type; but 
she has always credited me with habits of sobriety and a 
trustworthy character." 

"She probably knew you best when you were younger," 
interposed Pod. 

Broad grins greeted this sally ; but Cal was in nowise dis- 
concerted. 

195 



TALES 01^ BOWDOIN 

"Ot course I g-ave her a warm welcome," he continued, 
with a deprecatory shrug of the shoulders, "and tried to 
make her feel at home. T could see, however, that she was 
impressed with the idea that Satan finds a large amount of 
work to do in a college community. She frankly told me 
that she had been somewhat loath to leave her young hope- 
ful amid the snares and pitfalls of such a place. I was 
protesting that he would be perfectly safe in my care ; that 
I would watch over him as the apple of my eye, when I 
heard Lon calling me from the upper floor. I opened the 
door into the hallway. 'What's wanted?' I asked. 

"*Is that jug there?' 

'"What jug?' 

" 'Why, you know, that punch.' 

"You better believe I was hot. 'What are you talking 
about?' I shouted angrily, 'You know very well there's 
never been any punch here.' " 

"What did he say to that?" asked Shorty. 

"The rascal! He laughed a skeptical laugh and said, 
'Is it possible you've drank it all ? I thought you agreed to 
save it for our next poker game.' " 

"You ought to have gone gunning for him," grinned 
Punk. "What did the old lady say?" 

"Well, she didn't say much, but she looked volumes. 
In vain I protested that it was all a joke. The foundations 
of her faith were started. She said she hoped I was still a 
good boy, but I saw very plainly that she had her serious 
doubts about it. When she left for Boston, an hour or so 
later, she took her son with her." 

"Well, that was a roast, for a fact," said Punk; "but I 
guess you've squared the account. Wake uo there. Pod !" 
he added in louder tones to Bennett, who was dozing on 

196 



A smoke; talk in no. 7 

the sofa. "What's the matter with you? Seems to me 
you don't appreciate good society." 

"Oh, my appreciation's all right," said Pod. rousing him- 
self to a sitting posture ; "but those riotous Sophomores kept 
me awake about half the night. Didn't you know about 
that?" 

"No, what was it?" 

"Why, it seems they had a pig yarded somewhere, and 
about midnight they towed him over to Memorial hall and 
put him into the Greek recitation room. I could hear him 
squealing all the way across the campus. It's a wonder they 
didn't wake up the whole college." 

"A childish prank forsooth, and what said the Bird this 
morning ?" 

"Oh, he got back on the boys all right. 'I see, gentle- 
men,' he remarked blandly, when they were called to order, 
'that a new member has joined you, and I trust he will be 
able to make as good a showing as some of his classmates.' 
They didn't lose much time in turning him out after that." 

"Who, the Bird?" 

"No, child, the pig. Somehow the Sophs haven't seemed 
disposed to say much about the matter since." 

"Discussion isn't always valuable," said Cal wisely. "Do 
you remember the time we smoked out Freshie Fenlason?" 

"Well, I am sure that was a success," said Pegs. 

"Yes, in a way, but I've often wondered who was the 
sickest that night — we or the Freshman." 

"I am convinced, fellows," announced the Judge with 
decision, "that there are many forms of amusement that 
yield a larger and more satisfactory return on the invest- 
ment. By the way, Cal, here we are well into the spring 
term of Junior year, and, if my memory serves me right, 

197 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

tbat whiskers committee of which you were chairman in our 
callow Sophomore days has never yet made its report." 

"Be careful of your adjectives, my friend. 'Callow' 
belongs exclusively to Freshmen. Didn't you ever hear 
how that matter came out?" 

"Never. I knew that you and Pod and Stout Wilson 
were appointed a committee of three with authority to 
remove all hirsute appendages from the cheeks of Freshman 
Bemis. He left college after that last ducking we gave him, 
and you have never had anything to say about your part of 
the program." 

"Was there really a sequel ?" asked Cutty. 

"There was, my boy ; but 'tell it not in Gath ; publish it 
not in the streets of Askelon.' " 

"We're mum ; let's have it," said Rex. 

"Well, we watched for a good opportunity to carry out 
our mission, and a rainy night, soon after, seemed to furnish 
it, especially as we learned that Bem.is had gone for a call 
on a lady friend after supper. We were provided with 
scissors, ropes, black cam.bric masks, a dark lantern, about 
all the paraphernalia, in fact, that up-to-date highwaymen 
ar€ supposed to carry. We kept well out of sight on the 
east side of South Winthrop, where Bemis roomed, and 
waited patiently for him to put in an appearance. Finally 
Pegs, who was doing sentry duty, reported that he was 
coming. Just as he reached the doorway, we closed in on 
him. By the shades of old Phi Chi ! I never dreamed the 
fellow could put up such a fight. I had my handkerchief 
in his mouth, and as it was about all I could do to keep it 
there, the laboring oar fell to Pod and Stout. I won't go 
into details of the scrap. All of us were pretty well winded, 
but still retained some clothing when we finally got him 
tied up." 

198 




THE INTERIOR OP THE CHAPEL. 



A SMOKE TALK IN NO. J 

"What did you clo with him then?" asked Dan, who, like 
the rest, was foUovving the narrative with deep interest. 

"We higged him down into the pines and flashed a lantern 
on him, and who do you suppose he turned out to be ?" 

"Why, Bemis, of course," said Shorty. 

"Bemis? Not a bit of it. He was Arthburton of the 
Junior class." 

A whistle of surprise came from the group. 

"W^ell, you were in for it for a fact," said the Judge. 

"What did you do?" asked Punk. 

"Well, I cut the ropes and took my handkerchief out of 
his mouth for the first thing." 

"To give the oaths a chance, I suppose," ventured Rex. 

"Not at all ; that's the surprising thing about it, wasn't it, 
Pod?" 

"You could have knocked me down with a feather," 
answered Pod. "I never saw a fellow take a thing so coolly 
in my life," 

"And what did he remark?" asked Cutty. 

"Why, he just laughed and said very quietly, 'Got the 
wrong pig by the ear this time, didn't you ?' " 

"What answer did you make?" 

"Oh, I took up the burden of the song right there," said 
Cal. "You should have heard my humble and eloquent 
apology." 

"It was a gem," assented Pod. 

"How did he take it?" asked Dan. 

"In a most unexpected way," said Cal. "We were bank- 
ing on our disguises to conceal our identity ; but they didn't 
amount to shucks. When I had done my best to explain 
things, he remarked with a dry chuckle, 'Don't say another 
word, Burke, I'm just as much ashamed of it as you are. 
If you don't give it away, I'm sure I shall not' — and this is 

199 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

the first time I ever have ; but, of course," he added, "this 
will go no further." 

"It shall rest secure, old man. in the honor of the smoke 
circle," said the Judge. 

"So say we all of us," was the comment of the group. 

"By the way. Punk," said Cal, "what sinister motive had 
you in beguiling that little yellow dog into the club this 
noon ?" 

"Didn't you see the v/hole of that?" 

"No, I was just leaving as you were coming through the 
pines." 

"Well, It was all for Dave Herrick's benefit?" 

"Haven't you got through nagging him yet?" 

"I've sworn off many times," said Punk regretfully, "but 
while the spirit is willing the flesh is weak. I hope when 
Dave is finally settled over some thriving church he will 
never be called upon to deal with backsliders like me." 

"Well, that's all interesting, but indefinite," said Shorty 
impatiently. "Now perhaps you will condescend to tell us 
what possible bearing a dog can have upon Brother Herrick, 
and his theological aspirations." 

"It's a trial of faith for him," smiled Punk. "Didn't you 
know what a strong aversion he has to the canine race? I 
assure you it's a passion with him. Now, yesterday I 
enticed a friendly dog into the club, and made him happy 
with a juicy bone behind Dave's chair. Everything went 
along nicely until Herrick happened to discover him. Then 
there was trouble." 

"What did our embryo minister do then ?" asked Cutty. 

"He rose from the table with stately dignity and stalked 
from the room, as mad as a wet hen. 'Pon my word, he 
didn't eat another mouthful after he spied that dog. Just 
think of that for Christian charity !" 

200 



A SMOKE TALK IN NO. 7 

"That's worse than the mice," said Pe^s. 

"What of them?" grinned Dan. 

"Why, you know they got to holding carnival in Punk's 
coal closet on the crackers and cheese he keeps there for 
banquet purposes." 

"Free lunch for members of the smoke circle, you mean," 
interposed Punk. 

"Genuine luxury for the rest of us when we come to 
count the cost," said the Judge, "for, of course, we couldn't 
with self respect think of a return in kind." 

"That's it," assented Rex. "Now the last time Punk 
dined with me I fed him on cold turkey." 

"And I always suspected that it cost you less than my 
more humble but wholly honest fare," laughed Punk. 

"Beware of personalities !" said Cal. "It is never wise to 
be reckless with the truth. What about the mice, Pegs?" 

"Well, you see, Punk got tired of them after a while, and 
made Nipper Smith's heart glad by buying a mousetrap of 
him. The first night he had it set he caught three, and 
what do you suppose he did with them: 

"Turned them over to Pinkie as a new food product." 

"No, he went into Herrick's room and dropped one in 
each of the side pockets of his reefer. The third one he put 
in the pocket of his study jacket. When Dave started for 
the club that mommg, he felt for his gloves. They were 
fur trmimed, and he was so busy talking that he didn't 
notice anything wrong until he held out the mouse in the 
palm of his hand. I wish you could have seen his eyes stick 
out, and heard the yell he gave. Talk about jumping 
Frenchm.en ! They simply wouldn't have been in it. We 
were about half way through the pines when he dropped on 
to the second one, and he made another jump, not quite so 
high as the fiist. but still sufficiently so to have landed him 

201 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

a winner in the field day contests. 'Blast those boys !' he 
said. It was the nearest I ever heard Dave come to swear- 
ing. 'I believe they've filled every pocket in my coat with 
dead mice.' Then he made a very careful search of the gar- 
ment before he was fully satisfied that he had seen the last 
of them. I strolled into his room after dinner to see him 
don that rainbow jacket of his, and settle into that big easy 
chair before the grate. It's funny how a man can enjoy 
hibernating that w'ay ; but there's no accounting for tastes." 

"No, I don't think, Pegs, that you are constituted just 
right to fully apreciate a dig" smiled Cal, "but go on. How 
did Dave perform when he found that third mouse ?" 
perform when lie found that third mouse?" 

"He was busy boning out his Psychology when he finally 
felt it, and the jump he gave landed him about half way 
across the floor. He looked at me with sudden suspicion. 
'Did you put that m.ouse there?' he demanded. 

" 'Certainly not,' I answered with injured dignity. 'What 
have I ever done that you should insult me with such a sus- 
picion ?' 

" 'I sincerely beg your pardon, Derrill,' he said. 'This is 
the third one I've found in my pockets today, and the joke 
is getting a trifle monotonous.' 'I didn't notice anything 
monotonous in your movements just now.' I answered. 
^I'm going to make an end of it,' he said with decision, and 
thereupon he made a most careful search of his room. Not 
a place big enough to hide a grasshopper was overlooked." 

"And you?" interposed Punk. 

"Me? Oh, I waited 'round till he was doing the bed- 
room, then fished the last mouse he had discovered from the 
comer of the grate where he had thrown it, dropped it into 
his reefer pocket, and came home." 

The group laughed its approval of the narrative. 

202 



A SMOKE TALK IN NO. 7 

"Dave discovered that mouse the next morningf," added 
Punk, "and now he lays the whole thing: to Pegs. It is 
fortunate, however, for me, for it has done much to reinstate 
me in his good graces." 

Cutty rose and stretched himself with a yawn. 

"Where are you going, early bird?" asked Dan. 

"My fire is out, and I am under the painful necessity of 
appropriating a section of the attic floor." 

"I'll hold the light for you if you'll cut up some for me 
while you're about it." 

"Thanks, my lord! Your self-sacrificing spirit touches 
me deeply." 

"You might make a bee of it, Cutty," said the Judge 
gravely. "The rest of us will take hold with you, and do 
the heavy looking on," 

"In the words of the late lamented Artemus Ward, 'This 
is too much, too much.' On the whole I think we had 
better work the thing on shares — each one his own share. 
Cal can come in on the average repairs. Good night, old 
man." 

"Good night," chorused the others as they followed Cutty 
into the hall. 

"So long, fellows," answered Cal as the door closed upon 
his departing guests. 

"A little nonsense now and then, is relished by the wisest 
men,'' murmured Burke as alone with himself he turned to 
the window and stood, absorbed in his own reflections, look- 
ing out upon the campus. The mellow light of the new 
moon lent a magic charm to the scene. Never had it 
appeared more beautiful to Cal than at this moment when 
nature awakened from its Winter's sleep by the warm touch 
of Spring was budding forth in the fullness and perfection 
of life. The incense of opening buds and blossoms was in 

203 



TAI^ES OF BOWDOIN 

the softened air, and even the strident notes of the crickets 
had a music and an inspiration. He was aroused from his 
reverie by the distant singing of a party of students roister- 
ing homeward from a supper at "The Midnight." 

"Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 

And never brought to mind? 
Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 
And days of auld lang syne." 

The clear young voices came very distinctly upon the 
evening air, and a shadow crossed the listener's face. 
Alas! how soon this happy life with its pleasant associa- 
tions and inspiring opportunities must pass away ! 

With a sigh Burke turned to his desk and was soon, 
absorbed in the morrow's lessons. His room-mate, returnr 
ing from the German at two o'clock in the morning, flushed 
and happy in the consciousness of a social success, found 
him still busy with his tasks. 

"Hard at it, old man?" he called cheerily. 

Burke rose a little wearily, and rested a hand lightly upon 
his room-mate's shoulder. "Welcome home, my boy," he 
said. "I see this has been your night." 

Interchanges of sentiment never found expression in 
words between these two. They would have looked upon 
them as weak and effeminate ; but each knew and under- 
stood the other. 

"Yes, it was a success," said Remick. 

"And you won't mind my little pleasantrv of the early 
evening?" continued the other. 

Remick smiled happily, and there was a world of affec- 
tionate good-fellowship in the warm clasp he gave the out- 
stretched hand of his friend, as he answered heartily, "Don't 
mention it, old man." 

204 



HOW TRIANGLE WON 

Thomas LiTTLiir-iKLo Marble, '98 



HOW TRIANGLE WON 

A GROUP of undergradnates stood before the Chapel 
bulletin-board reading the annual announcement that 
the celebrated race horse, Triangle, 2.143/^, owned by Bow- 
doin's well known professor of Mathematics, would start in 
the free-for-all at the coming Topsham Fair, and that those 
students who so desired might obtain complimentary tickets 
for the event at the Library. 

"They say the old horse is in the pink of condition," 
remarked one of the group. 

"It's true,'' replied Ted Copley, a Sophomore of sporting 
proclivities. "I saw him step the last quarter of a work- 
out mile yesterday at a 'ten clip. I was more interested than 
usual because we have entered a horse from the Farm this 
year which father has promised to let me drive — just for 
Sophomoric glory, you know — and I should hate like the 
deuce to be beaten by a razor-backed skate like Triangle." 

" 'Razor-backed' is good," laughed a tall Junior. "The old 
horse is well named — he looks like a triangle." 

"Yes, he is a trifle angular," declared another, "but it isn't 
surprising, for he feeds on logarithms, I understand." 

Tony Davenport, a Freshman for whose edification the 
above conversation had taken place, turned from the bul- 
letin-board with a smile of derision. 

"You fellows must think I'm easy," said he. 

"Oh, this is no jolly," exclaimed Ted Copley, with an air 
of injured innocence. 

207 



TALES OF BOVVDOIN 

"Look here, Ted," interrupted Tony, "you know just as 
well as I do that there isn't a horse in the State by the name 
of Triangle with a mark of 'fourteen and a half." 

"Ho, ho. Fresh!" Ted ejaculated. "We know a great 
deal, don't we?" Then turning to the bystanders, "Gentle- 
men, this is Mr. Tony Davenport of the Mazeppa Stock 
Farm ; you will find Mr. Davenport an authority on all kinds 
of horses from quadrupeds to interlinears." 

Tony joined in the laugh which this speech occasioned, 
then, leaving the group, strolled leisurely toward the End — 
leisurely, I repeat, despite the fact that a bag of water hurled 
by some vigilant Sophomore from a dormitory window fell 
at his feet with a thud and a splash. But the first few 
weeks of college life had inured Tony to the tribulations of 
Freshman year, and, though oftentimes inwardly raging, he 
submitted to the thousand and one annoyances that Fresh- 
man flesh is heir to with a calm exterior and a tantalizing 
smile. 

Several days later there appeared in the local columns of 
the Orient the following item : 

"It is rumorecl that the owner of Triangle will be unahle to drive his 
favorite at the Topsham Fair this season, and that Tony Davenport of the 
Freshman class will handle the ribbons in his stead. Young Mr. Daven- 
port is a worthy scion of the well known horseman, Woodbury Davenport, 
proprietor of the Mazeppa Stock Farm, and this fact alone is suflElcient 
guarantee of his ability as a reinsman." 

Apparently no one was more amused at this paragraph 
than Tony, yet all the while he was longing for an oppor- 
tunity to turn the tables on his friends, the Sophomores. It 
was the Orient item itself which at length suggested to him 
the means of accomplishing his wish ; but the means so sug- 

208 



HOW TRIANGLE WON 

gested required the approval and co-operation of Tony's 
father. 

" 'Hoc opus, hie labor est,' " quoted Tony, who still 
remembered his Virgil, "which being freely translated 
means, 'That's the devil of it.' " 

Yet Mr, Davenport was so indulgent a father that Tony 
did not entirely despair of success. 

About a week before the opening of the Topsham Fair, 
Mr. Davenport received from his son a letter couched in the 
most persuasive terms. The letter began by explaining the 
custom among Bowdoin Sophomores of issuing each fall a 
poster advertising the appearance at the Topsham Fair of 
the horse, Triangle, said to be owned by the professor of 
Mathematics. "Of course," wrote Tony, "no such horse 
exists, and the poster is printed simply in the hope that some 
gullible Freshman will ask at the Library or treasurer's 
office for tickets to the Fair grounds the day Triangle 
trots, — tickets which the poster asserts may be obtained free 
of charge. This year, however, it is claimed that Triangle 
will be driven by no less a person than your dutiful son, as 
the enclosed clipping will bear witness. Now, father dear," 
(Tony was nothing if not diplomatic) "what I am coming 
at is this : the bay colt, which you intend to start in the big 
stake races next season, has never been registered, and is 
consequently without a name. Why can't you enter him 
under the name of Triangle in the free-for-all at Topsham, 
and let me drive him ? I know it is asking a good deal, but 
if the colt is fast enough to win the race — ^and I think he 
is — he will certainly be a good horse in his class another 
season. If he doesn't win, he is still eligible for the stake 
races, and no harm has been done. Should you care to enter 
any of the other horses, the purses at Topsham are large 
enough to make it worth while." Then came the climax. 
M 209 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

"The Copley Farm will send a string of horses, and Ted 
Copley, wearing the Sophomore colors, expects to drive 
Cristo. If I could beat him, I should be the happiest Fresh- 
man in Brunswick." 

To make the story brief, Mr. Davenport proved respon- 
sive to his son's wishes. Consequently, the printed list of 
entries for the Sagadahoc County Fair that season contained 
the names of Triangle and Cristo, entered by the great rival 
training stables, the Mazeppa and the Copley Farms. At 
first the college looked upon the matter as part and parcel 
of the venerable "Triangle" joke, but the arrival of a hand- 
some bay colt, in charge of grooms from the Mazeppa 
Farm, at the Topsham Fair grounds one morning set the 
little college world agog, and the truth was soon apparent. 
Unbeknown to their wily rivals, the Freshmen held a meet- 
ing to select class colors, which Tony was authorized to 
wear in the coming contest. Then, with unconcealed eager- 
ness, all awaited the opening of the Fair. 

The eventful day came at last, and never did the Manu- 
facturer of Weather present a finer sample of his handi- 
work. In the ruddy glow of October, dear old Bowdoin 
seemed most literally to possess the "dignity of age without 
its infirmities." Above the tops of Brunswick's famous 
"groves of pine" rose the sun, clear and bright, to gladden 
the heart of many an anxious student; for "adjourns" had 
been granted, and an adjourn without sunshine is salt with- 
out its savor. Whiter than ever gleamed the "foam on 
Androscoggin's falls," while on the heights above, sentinel- 
like, stood the old red stand-pipe, lending a dash of color to 
the somber hues of the distant landscape. So calm and 
peaceful was the day that it seemed a sacrilege to rouse 
sedate old Topsham from her proverbial sleep. 

210 



HOW triangle; won 

Early in the afternoon, large numbers of students flocked 
to the Fair grounds, where the Sophomores, more jubilant 
than the rest, were strikingly conspicuous. Here divers 
'Varsity ball players essayed their skill in "hitting the nig- 
ger's head" ; there a group of upperclassmen could be seen, 
chatting merrily with a galaxy of the fair sex from the Ship- 
ping City, — everywhere, that boisterous abandon so charac- 
teristic of the Topsh^m Fair. The commanding voice of 
the marshal "calling up" the free-for-all sent each group 
with a common impulse to the grand stand. 

The horses were out when Tony, cool and collected, 
received from old John Maguire, the driver of the Farm, the 
whip with which John had urged so many gallant racers to 
victory. The talent had picked Cristo and Triangle as 
probable winners, for if the future can be predicted from 
the past, it was extremely unlikely that either the Copley or 
the Mazeppa Farm would start a horse without fair chances 
of success. But the drivers of the favorites were inexperi- 
enced college youths, and in that fact lay the hopes of the 
less speedy contestants. 

Tony regarded it as a good omen that he should draw the 
last position, for old John had cautioned him against setting 
the pace, and had advised him to trail the field if possible. 
Starting in this position made it far easier to follow John's 
instructions. With a parting nod to his father, who occu- 
pied a seat of honor in the judges' stand, Tony mounted the 
sulky and jogged Triangle slowly up the stretch. By this 
time Tony's self-possession had deserted him, he was 
trembling violently, and his heart fairly leaped with fright. 
He was dimly conscious that the horses were turning, and 
that Cristo was next the pole. Triangle, whose education 
had been thorough, swung into line with little guidance, and 
the race was on. Twice the harsh jangling of the starter's 

211 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

bell called the horses back, and with each delay Tony's 
nervousness increased. For the third time they turned at 
the flag, as the starter's voice came to them through the 
megaphone: "Turn slowly! Take back to the pole horse! 
Take back! Go!" 

The whir of pneumatic tires, the pounding of horses' 
hoofs on the hard clay of the track, a rushing sound like the 
roar of a cataract, and the great field of horses swept by the 
grand stand. The pace was terrific. It seemed to Tony 
that some invisible yet relentless force was dragging him to 
destruction. His breath came in convulsive gasps, and he 
felt so faint and dizzy that it required a supreme effort of 
will to keep his seat. The reins, which till now he had 
grasped mechanically, slipped through his fingers the frac- 
tion of an inch; there was a sudden slackening of tension, 
then a violent tug. The colt, finding the pressure of the bit 
for the moment relaxed, missed his stride and broke. But 
Tony's was a character which adversity strengthens, and 
instead of cursing the fate which had unnerved him in this 
crisis, he set about to repair the mischief he had wrought. 
A strong breeze blowing down the back stretch cleared his 
brain and steadied his nerve. A firm, even pull on the bit 
brought the colt to a square trot, and then in spite of old 
John's advice not to do any "grand stand teaming," but to 
limit his horizon to his horse's ears, Tony coolly surveyed 
the field. Close behind him an erratic gray gelding was 
duplicating Triangle's performance, while the other horses 
were some lengths in front, closely bunched. 

With the mechanism of perfect machinery, Triangle 
moved forward, and at the turn had lessened quite percep- 
tibly the distance between himself and the leaders. Mean- 
time, Ted was contenting himself with second position, 
while the chestnut mare, Rowena, led the procession with 

212 



now TRIANGLE WON 

apparent ease. At the half, Triangle slipped into third 
place, and the cheers of Tony's classmates soon gave way 
to the Sophomore yell, as Cristo, with a brilliant burst of 
speed, took the pole from Rowena. Once headed, the little 
mare lost heart, and at the three-quarters mark yielded her 
place to Triangle. Cristo was now a good two lengths in 
the lead, and Tony realized that the decisive moment had 
come. Slowly and without lessening the pressure of the 
bit, he transferred the reins to his left hand and reached for 
the whip. The colt responded nobly, and as they swung 
into the stretch, was close to Cristo's sulky wheel. Again 
the whip descended, and again the speed increased. Inch 
by inch Triangle crept upon his rival. Neck and neck they 
swept down the stretch with the wire scarce twenty yards 
ahead. Neither had the advantage now, and the least mis- 
take would prove fatal. Ted knew that an increase of pace, 
however slight, would win the day, Cristo had always 
finished with a rush. Could he be relied on now? Ted 
thought so. Thrice the whip lashed Cristo's flank, but the 
noble horse had reached his limit. Tony saw the striped 
nose tossed high in the air, and realized with savage joy 
that Ted had forced his horse to a break. The next instant, 
Triangle shot under the wire, the winner of the heat. 

It was the crucial test. There coursed through Triangle's 
veins the blood of countless race horses with not a single 
"quitter" in the list. True to his illustrious ancestry, he 
proved unfaltering in the successive heats, and passed the 
wire for the last time amid the plaudits of a host of 
admirers. 

As for Tony, ho words can describe his excessive happi- 
ness, for the Sophomore champion had been defeated, and 
Triangle was no longer a fiction. 

21^ 



TALES OP TBOWDOIN 



After the race the Freshmen chartered an electric, and 
rode back to Brunswick singing "Phi Chi." The Sopho- 
mores held them in Chapel the next morning, to be sure, but 
in view of their recent victory, even that humiliation seemed 
slight. 



AT THE ALTAR OF TRADITION 

George Brinton Chandler, '90 



AT THE ALTAR Or TRADITION 

WE are all more or less Pharisees. We like to indulge 
in wise head-shakings over things forbidden, while 
outlaw memories still linger in the recesses of our affections 
and give the lie to our grave and ceremonious faces. The 
same bald-headed drove of parsons, doctors, and lawyers 
who always declaim virtuously against the latest hazing out- 
rage, may be seen congregated in little knots about the 
campus each Commencement, swapping yams (that have 
not lost incident and color with time) and making the wel- 
kin ring with bursts of unholy laughter. The time they 
shaved Watkins' head and proclaimed him "the only and 
original human billiard ball,'' or the night the Green boys 
were put through the shirt-tail drill, comes back to them 
from the fugitive past with all the flavor and zest of youth. 
And when at Commencement dinner the band strikes up 
old "Phi Chi," lo Ben Adhem's voice leads all the rest ! 

Hazing is passing away. It had to. The inexorable tri- 
bunal of public sentiment, which possesses the power to 
grant or withhold students and funds, has declared against 
it. So has Congress. It often crushed timid spirits. 
Occasionally it broke them. On the other hand it gave 
many bumptious youths their first genuine taste of the 
wholesome trutli, that he Avho runs counter to established 
usages must be bruised. It is also a drastic application of 
the law of the survival of the fittest. It either exterminates 
or develops. Of the number of lights it has put out we 

217 



TALUS OF BOWDOIN 

have no means of telling ; neither can we know how many- 
may have been trimmed and fed by it. But certain it is that 
the generations of Englishmen who fagged and were fagged, 
and the generations of young Americans who hazed and were 
hazed, have small need to apologize for the part they, have 
borne in the strife and stress of a splendid century. Though 
the old custom be an evil, perhaps it has not been an 
unmixed one. But all this is apart from the question. We 
need not haggle about it now. Football and the more rug- 
ged athletic sports have come to take its place and perform 
more rationally and efificiently the same saving part. 

In Bowdoin College the two Greek letters, $ X, usually 
accompanied by skull and crossbones, have long stood as 
the peculiar symbol of hazing. Phi Chi (pronounced with 
a long i according to the old method) formerly was used to 
designate a Sophomore secret society which lived and flour- 
ished throughout the 'sixties and 'seventies, and maintained 
an intermittent warfare with society in general and the Fac- 
ulty in particular, until finally it came into collision with the 
principles of latter-day civilization and was wiped out of 
existence. But, like old John Brown of Ossawattomie, its 
soul goes marching on Its purpose and intent was to main- 
tain the functions and ideals of orthodox sophomority, and 
to harry and chastise obstreperous Freshmen. Within its 
limitations^ it was tremendously efficient. The words "Phi 
Chi" have become historic. With their ominous and sepul- 
chral accompaniment, they have carried terror to the hearts 
of many succeeding classes, and long after the society as an 
organization had ceased to exist they remained the audible 
rallying cry and visible badge of that rude iustice whereby 
the sons of the Puritans held fast the landmarks of special 
privilege. They rer^resent the worship of precedent and the 

218 



AT THE AF.TAR OP TRADITION 

rule of conservatism. In this, at least, they may not have 
been wholly bad. 

As might be well expected, so significant and valiant an 
institution was not without its characteristic song — old "Phi 
Chi," from the pen of E. P. Mitchell, '71, now the brilliant 
New York editor. From the battle hymn of a defunct 
society, it has arisen in the fullness of time to the dignity of 
a college epic, and has even been borrowed by some of our 
sister colleges which never knew Phi Chi and know nothing 
of its traditions. It is sung to the martial strains of "March- 
ing Through Georgia ;" and, like "Dixie" in the South, it is 
the haunting refram of a lost cause. It is in the mouths of 
all Sophomores and upperclassmen. It may be heard of 
Summer evenings, sung by groups of students on the 
campus ; it is the battle song of intercollegiate contests ; and 
in the long Winter evenings, when tasks are burdensome and 
time hangs heavy, it is a perpetual solace and inspiration. 
No Commencement dinner, no assembling of the sons in. 
distant cities, is formal and complete without its stirring 
measures. 

PHI CHI. 

There's a baby born to Bowdoin, boys, 

Way back in 'Sixty-four, 
Who's thundered for admission 

At many a Freshman's door; 
And, thanks to God and , 

She'll thunder evermore, 
For Phi Chi's in her ancient glory! 

Chorus. 
Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah, for old Phi Chi! 

Hurrah! Hurrah! And may she never die! 
While pluck beats luck, and the Prex. is stuck. 

And the Profs, are high and dry. 
We will follow her to glory. 

210 



TAI,t;s OF EOV.'DOIN 

Swing out the brave old banner, boys; 

The resurrection's come. 
Swing out the horn of plenty, 

And the old ancestral drum. 
Bring out the pondrous hewgaw, 

That has made Gomorrah hum; 
For Phi Chi's in her ancient glory. 
Chorus. 

There are pails and there are windows, 

And there's water in the well; 
As the Freshman will discover 

If he tries to cut a swell. 
Cold water for his diet. 

Till existence is a hell. 
For Phi Chi's in her ancient glory. 
Choeus. 

Bring forth the grinning skeleton, 

And close the coffin lid; 
And screw the Freshman in it, 

Till his infant form is hid. 
For he must learn that he must do 

Precisely as he's bid; 
For Phi Chi's in her ancient glory. 

CHORUS. 

This indefinable combination of song and symbol stood, 
too, as the especial mark of emancipation from the servitude 
of Freshmandom. No member of the first year's class used 
to be permitted to give utterance to the words "Phi Chi" in 
the presence of an upperclassman. He might not print the 
symbols by chalk, pencil, pen, or any other means or imple- 
ment whatsoever. Neither might he permit it to remain 
upon any of his impedimenta or belongings, if printed there 
by another person. Neither might he sing, hum, or give 
other musical utterance to, any bar or measure of the song 
of Phi Chi, or the air upon which it is based. The penalty 
for such offense is to be spoken of darkly and in secret 
places. The Freshman was supposed to emerge from his 
cocoon at the completion of his final examinations for the 
year, when he blossomed forth with silk hat and cane, and 

220 




IN THE FALL OF 1888. 



AT THE ALTAR OF TRADITION 

marched across the campus in a body prior to taking his 
departure for Portland; where from time immemorial has 
been held the annual Freshman dinner. Such was the old 
dispensation. All of this came to be as much a part of the 
traditions of Bowdoin College as Longfellow, Hawthorne, 
Elijah Kellogg, Parker Cleaveland, the "Thorndike Oak," 
the "Whispering Pines" ; or Professor "Cosine" Smith's 
horse, "Triangle," and the famous gig with elliptical wheels. 

When, therefore, upon one crisp morning in the Fall of 
1888 a white banner, bearing jauntily the figures of the year 
of the Freshman class alongside the privileged letters of 
Phi Chi, was found floating from the pinnacle of the north 
spire of King's Chapel, there was panic and consternation in 
the ranks of the class of 'Ninety. Ancient prerogatives had 
been challenged, and the organic law of the institution had 
been rudely violated. It was the most daringly revolu- 
tionary act of undergraduate history. 'Ninety was loaded 
with ridicule and contumely. The upperclassmen hooted 
and jeered at us; the Freshmen became perceptibly insub- 
ordinate; the Faculty indulged in covert smiles and half- 
phrased innuendoes; and, as if to add a final straw to our 
burden of perplexity and humiliation, the yaggers became 
all at once significantly insolent and aggressive. A general 
"yagger war" came near being precipitated by an attack 
made by them upon a foraging party of Sophomores, which 
was returning with a "set up" that had been commandeered 
from Bill Field's on the account of some opulent and obnox- 
ious Freshman. 

It was undoubtedly the critical period of 'Ninety's his- 
tory. Who could have been the culprit? How had the 
daring offense been committed ? If found, how should the 
offender be adequately punished ? And, finally, how should 
the haunting emblem be removed from the Chapel spire? 

221 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

We were not long in finding a solution to the first of our 
problems in the continued absence from chapel exercises and 
recitations of a quiet, unobtrusive Freshman, whom a few 
of the Sophomores recalled by the name of "Cilley." John 
Cilley was at that time a ruddy-cheeked lad, under medium 
height, but with square shoulders, erect bearing and com- 
pact, muscular build. The circumstance that he wore spec- 
tacles may have given to the unobserving a first impression 
of effeminacy. Upon his own initiative and unassisted he 
had climbed hand-over-hand a distance of one hundred and 
twenty feet, by means of the lightning rod, and had fastened 
to the pinnacle of the spire the colors of his class. His con- 
tinued absence from regular college exercises had been due 
to a fall of twenty or thirty feet from the rod to what was 
then the old Museum. His hands, also, had been lacerated 
from contact with the rod and staples. The feat had been 
performed in the night. It was the daring act of a resolute 
spirit. John Cilley subsequently came to be respected in 
Bowdoin College, even more for his ability as an oarsman 
and general athlete and for his high qualities as a student 
and man than he was at this time admired for his brave and 
spectacular achievement. When, a few years after his grad- 
uation, he was called out to the great Beyond, the young 
manhood of his generation sustained a grave and irreparable 
loss. 

The discovery of the offender by, no means simplified our 
problem. To exact physical punishment from an injured 
man would be an act of palpable cowardice, and by no means 
to be sustained by the sentiment of the college. To pass 
the matter over in silence would be the bald abrogation of 
a time-honored privilege. As as conservative middle course 
it was, therefore, decreed that Cilley should be levied upon 
for a class "set-up." He was, as we had ascertained, amply 

222 



AT the; altar of tradition 

able to stand the expense ; and our visit would not work any 
bodily injury upon him. Under the circumstances the solu- 
tion had seemed statesmanlike and the punishment mild. But 
in some way the upperclassmen got wmd of our contemplated 
visit to young Cilley's apartment. Either they misunderstood 
the punishment to be administered, or else they had come to 
the conclusion that in this instance tradition must be violated 
and a sweeping exception made. When, upon the appointed 
evening, our class appeared at the entrance of South Win- 
throp, we found the entire Junior and Senior classes lined 
up in the darkness of the stairways with pails full of water 
ready summarily to quench our thirst for justice. An alter- 
cation ensued and hot words were passed. We retired to 
the Chapel for a council of war. A noisy, but by no means 
uninfluential, minority was for securing base ball bats and 
forcing a passage at the point of the bludgeon. As we 
afterward discovered, one member of the class was armed 
with a revolver. At length cooler heads and wiser councils 
prevailed and we withdrew from a contest in which we were 
outnumbered more than two to one, and in which our only 
chance for success lay in physical violence and ultimate dis- 
grace. The other classes made light of our surrender but 
indulged in some ridicule on the following day. As a 
matter of fact, it had been a moment of grave danger to the 
good name of the college as well as to the personal safety 
of some of the students. The punishment of Cilley was 
dropped and never came up again. 

The problem that still confronted the class was the 
removal of the defiant emblem, for throughout all of our 
deliberations and controversies "^ X '91" had been waving 
undisturbed over the heads of the college. Several unsuc- 
cessful attempts were made by the more athletic spirits of 
the class to duplicate Cilley's feat. I believe Dr. Turner of 

223 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

Augusta conceived the ingenious plan of reaching the rod 
from the belfry and thereby shortening the route. But this 
was found upon investigation to be impracticable. Along 
with the rest of my classmates, I presume I gave the matter 
no small amount of study and speculation. At length a plan 
occurred to me by which, if the staples could be relied upon, 
the ascent seemed easy, practicable, and comparatively safe. 
That is, it required no marked degree of dexterity or endur- 
ance. Any young man with a steady nerve, who could 
climb a rope ladder a few feet, and then transfer his weight 
to another similar ladder, might readily carry it into execu- 
tion. Two duplicate tackles were made, one of which may 
be described as follows: First, a light, strong pole was 
secured, long enough so that a man standing on a level with 
one of the staples might reach the staple above with it. 
(I think I used rakestales). This may be termed the 
"handle." Attached to the flattened side of one end of this 
handle was a strong iron hook, of such proportions as to 
grasp readily and securely the portion of the staples by 
which the lightning rod is fastened to the wall. The shank 
of the hook had to be made long enough to admit of its 
being bound securely to the wooden handle. If I were to 
attempt the ascent again, 1 would entrust this part of the 
mechanism to the blacksmith who made my hooks; for, in 
spite of every precaution, one of the hooks worked loose 
from the handle before the descent had been completed. On 
the lower end of the shank of the hook was an eye. To 
this eye was attached a rope ladder, which in my device was 
merely a succession of clumsy loops, although my experi- 
ence showed that a little care and ingenuity in its construc- 
tion might have greatly facilitated the insertion of the toe 
in the loop above — a by no means easy process in the night. 
In addition to this there was attached to the upper, or hook 

224 



AT THi; ALTAR OF TRADITION 

end, of the tackle, an extra loop whereby it might be hun^ 
upon the fordarm, thus leaving both hands disengaged. 

The mode of ascent will be apparent from this description 
of "handle" and "ladder." I had simply to stand upon the 
ground and attach ladder No. i to the nearest staple; next, to 
climb this ladder until, by reaching upward with the handle, 
ladder No. 2 could be attached to the second staple. I then 
transferred my weight to this second ladder, unhooked the 
first one from its place on the staple and hung it upon the 
forearm, and proceeded as before. The only difificulty to be 
encountered was in rounding the abrupt turn from the wall 
of the Chapel to the roof, but investigation had convinced 
me, what experience proved, that the staples are advantage- 
ously located for turning this angle. The chief strain was 
upon the ankles, which were found to ache considerably 
before the descent had been completed. I do not recall that 
there was any serious strain upon the hands or arms. In 
fact, were it not for the altitude, no one would consider the 
process a difficult one. Of course, when the preservation of 
one's existence is at stake, he is not inclined to forget the 
old precautions not to look down, nor to let his attention, 
play him tricks. 

The night selected for the trial was bright moonlight. 
Ernest Briggs, one of my classmates who died later in his 
college course, and Henry ("Bob") Hastings, also of the 
class of 'Ninety, stood upon the ground ready to gather up 
the reliquiae in case of accident. Some unknown person 
watched the proceedings from one of the hall-windows of 
South Maine, but for reasons best known to himself he kept 
our secret. He retired when Briggs approached the build- 
ing. Aside from the trifling accident of the loosened hook, 
both ascent and descent were uneventful. Upon the roof 
of the Museum and upon the ridgepole of the Chapel, there 
N 225 



tai,e;s of bowdoin 

was abundant opportunity for securing periods of rest. A 
small pyramid of granite surmounts the pinnacle of the 
spire, and the apparently insecure manner in which it is 
attached to the main frustum is calculated to send an 
uncanny chill down one's back, when the piece is grasped. 
Strapped upon my shoiilders were the banner, "$X '90," 
which was speedily substituted for the hated rag of insur- 
rection; and a Phi Chi hat, that infallible emblem of 
sophomority, which was hung upon the tip of the lightning 
rod by means of a long stick. The latter was blown down 
in the early morning and picked up by Tom Burr, a prowl- 
ing Freshman. It ^ was subsequently stolen from him. In 
writing me recently from Ann Arbor, Michigan, where he is 
now located, Dr. Burr charged me openly with the theft, 
and demanded the restitution of the relic. As I had 
originally extracted it from the wardrobe of Lincoln Bodge 
of the Junior class, it may serve to prove an old proverb 
about the migratory habits of stolen goods. 

There was the usual demonstration in front of the Chapel 
the next morning, and Cilley and I were compelled to join 
hands over the bloody chasm from the shoulders of our 
respective classes. Two or three times since the Fall of 
1888 have students successfully performed the exploit. 
Tradition still holds her genial tyranny over the halls of old 
Bowdoin, and the generations continue to pass beneath its 
triumphal arches. The years change,, but not the heart of 
youth. 

"A boy's ■will is the "wind's will 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." 



INDIAN PUDDING 

John Alexander Pierce, 'oi 



INDIAN PUDDING 

IN accordance with the less molhfied remains of Puritanism 
half a century ago, although supposedly not abhorrent to 
God, the chapel service in the young hours of the morning 
was peculiarly abhorrent to man. The reins of authority 
being held pretty tight also in other respects, in themselves 
seemed to suggest to the restive spirit that any slackening 
of their tension would be accompanied by sensations of 
vmalloyed delight. To the freedom of the present time then, 
rather than to a lack of spirit, should be attributed the 
"decrease in romance" in student life ; there are fewer block- 
ades and gauntlets to be run. 

Miscellaneous regulations used to suggest miscellaneous 
infringements, but the early chapel was evidently one of the 
most grevious compulsions, for on cold winter mornings the 
clapper of the Chapel bell was so often missing that the col- 
lege had learned to keep on hand a supply of tongues so that 
voice could be summarily restored to the bell. 

When one pictures to himself the night aspect of the void 
and dark interior of the bell tower, a hundred and twenty 
feet tall, in which an ascent had to be made by scaling with 
a short ladder from successive beams and window niches, it 
it not hard to see how a student, in accomplishing this ardu- 
ous feat to prevent a single chapel service, must have 
imagined himself to have been fired with the strongest 
altruistic principles. It was on the occasion of one Hal- 
lowe'en that the bell was thus benevolently gagged under 
peculiarly trying conditions. In the first place elaborate 

229 



TAI,^S 01? BOWDOIN 

maneuvres had to he carried out in the very face of special 
watchfulness on the part of the authorities. Buckets of ice 
and water had to be lowered into the Chapel and hoisted 
separately to the belfry. Then the bell had to be turned over 
without a stroke and propped in an inverted position to 
receive the contents of the buckets. But the extreme and 
very unusual cold, which indeed was necessary to the 
project, was the incident of the greatest hardship, and above 
all, these responsibilities were divided on only two pairs of 
shoulders. At times the bitter cold almost extinguished the 
ardor of one of the confederates, and although now and 
then he worked furiously, bubbling over with enthusiasm at 
the brilliancy of the project, he fell again as surely into the 
alternate state of apathy. The other, the author and prime 
mover, persevered grimly and quietly, paying no heed to his 
second except to give directions. He had chosen his room- 
mate as his sole accomplice in conformity with his favorite 
maxim that "Three men can keep a secret when two of 
them are dead." 

"There," said Number Two as he stopped drawing up 
the bell-rope, "by the eternal Devil I've dredged up the last 
bucket from the Pit," and after pouring the water it con- 
tained into the bell, he sat down astride the beam on which 
he had been standing and began to hitch along as if endeav- 
oring to keep his blood in circulation. Occasionally he 
uttered despairing groans in reference to his friend's arrival 
with the ladder. At last when a head did appear above the 
beam and a voice said, "Stubs," he started up and could 
scarcely contain his enthusiasm. 

"It's freezing solid," he cried. "Oh, why have you such 
a name as Jedediah to confound the ballad- writers ?" 

Jedediah, familiarly "Jed," made an examination for him- 
self and being satisfied that the water and broken ice in the 

230 



INDIAN PUDDING 

bell were forming a homogeneous mass, he began the 
descent. 

About fifteen minutes later they were huddled by the fire 
in their room in Winthrop, and it was only after consider- 
able thawing that those two energetic brains appeared to be 
once more alert to the welfare of humanity. 

"Noble Jedediah," said Stubs, "our family physician 
always maintained that there was nothing like a counter- 
irritant to divert a threatened malady. Now wouldn't it 
be well to establish the grounds of our alibi ?" 

'■'Exactly what I was thinking of," replied Jed. "Now 
while I don't claim absolutely that I originate everything 
brilliant, I am always happy to suggest an expeditious 
course, and although the idea may not in every case be new 
to me, I am no more a sycophant than the modern poets 
are who sometimes derive inspiration from their prede- 
cessors." 

"A little too much air escaped with that for me to grasp 
your meaning exactly," Stubs said in a tone of remon- 
strance. "I am afraid your windpipe is getting out of your 
control. Pull your necktie up and take a hitch or two in 
the slack." 

"Notice that I applaud your scintillating wit. When you 
interrupted me I was going to suggest that we should adopt 
a plan that has been attributed to our worthy predecessor, 
Elijah Kellogg. Something of proven merit is meet for 
the exigency and for Hallowe'en." 

"The festival is surely as worthy in its observances as 
Candlemas or the Pentecost, and I am agreeable so long as 
it may truly be a counter-irritant." 

"Oh, it's explicitly that, and if you will effect a sort of 
gathering of the clans as quietly as possible, I will attend to 
the other details." 

231 



TAl^US OF BOWDOIN 

Stubs left the room immediately and Jed concerned him- 
self in the bed-chamber with the filling of an oil stove and 
fumbling in a box of various tin and glass utensils. 

Presently the outer door opened and half a dozen fellows, 
at once annoyed and expectant, like pigs aroused for a meal, 
made their entrance. They threw themselves into various 
restful postures to await developments. Stubs leaned back 
in a chair and put his feet on the table. What he intended 
for a genial grin was rendered rather forbidding by black 
flakes of tobacco leaf that hid all but an occasional tooth; 
but his spectacles, pushed up on his head, gave him an air 
of venerable erudition, and altogether this demagogue 
appeared to be about to regale his disciples with a profitable 
harangue. He added fresh tobacco to his apparently suffi- 
cient quid and tucked it away in some cavernous recess 
where it could not quite garble his elocution. 

"Oh, tenderly nurtured youths," he began, "how unfor- 
tunate for you that you cannot always bask in the light of 
your Jedediah, who is now engaged in the pursuit of 
alchemy, and of myself, who has ascertained why Demos- 
thenes wished to learn the art of talking with something in 
the mouth — " 

"Sa}^, is this all there is to be of the show?" someone 
interrupted. 

"I can't bear much of this," said another. 

"We didn't come in, you know, to hear you bleat," put in 
a third. 

"Another year of srch tutelage," continued Stubs imper- 
turbably, "and a dawn might break on your dark souls. 
You would in the first place be in a more recipient attitude, 
having become acquainted with the various statutes of this 
precinct through their various penalties. For instance, de 
pipa portandi, for negligently carrying a cask of wine, 

232 



INDIAN PUDDING 

would teach you not to drop your oil can when returning 
from the grocer's." Here he paused for breath and a voice 
from the bed-room interposed : 

"Sound the tocsin!" 

This injunction seemed to be pretty, well understood, for 
the fellows in the study immediately set up a terrific hub- 
bub, by stampitig and shouting while Stubs beat out a sort 
of irregular rhythm on the table with an old clapper of the 
Chapel bell. Presently the confusion subsided and Jedediah 
came out of the bed-room and shouted three or four times : 

"You lie ! It's my deal !" 

He had hardly uttered this reiteration when a loud knock 
shook the door. Silence followed and no one stirred. The 
knocking was continued with impatience. Stubs made a 
sign to one of those nearest to open the door. The latter 
turned the lock and opened as if reluctantly, when seeing 
the lowering visage of Tutor Blank, he swung the door 
wide. 

Jedediah, who was standing, made a hasty motion with 
one hand from the table toward his coat-tail pocket. The 
others rose respectfully. 

The tutor glided forward and looked about with a crafty 
smile. "Aha,"' he croaked, "playing cards again in Number 
Seven." 

"I beg your pardon," began Jedediah, "but — " 

"No falsehoods, sir! Don't make it any worse; your 
case is bad enough as it is !" 

"But, sir—" 

"Don't lie to me, sir!" said the tutor through his teeth. 
"You've got the cards in your pocket." 

As Jedediah was apparently ready to utter unlimited 
negatives, the tutor darted forward as if to assert his pre- 
rogative of the right of search, Jed started back and cried : 

233 



TALES OP BOWDOIN 

"Oh, please don't feel in my pocket, sir!" 

Tutor Blank grinned and said "Aha !" but far from relin- 
quishing his search, he pressed forward with renewed 
interest. 

"Oh, but 1 beg you, sir, don't do it, I pray you — !" 
exclaimed Jed, but his request was cut short by the tutor's 
making a snatch at the coat-tail and darting a hand into the 
depths of the pocket. This purpose was no sooner realized, 
however, than Tutor Blank uttered a wild howl, followed 
by an exclamation of a more articulate and impressive 
nature. For a minute or two he danced around on the 
tips of his toes, a perfect picture of anguish. Then he 
began to scrape a steaming yellow paste from the fingers of 
that enterprising hand, and when he had succeeded in fairly 
catching his breath he bawled : 

"What did you do that for?" 

"Indeed, / begged you not to put your hand in my 
pocket !" replied Jed. 

"That's nothing to do with it," roared Tutor Blank. 
"What have you in that pocket?" 

"An Indian Pudding, sir!" 

"What in, — what on earth, — what right have you to have 
a pudding in your pocket?" Tutor Blank howled. 

"I didn't know there was any regulation about having a 
pudding in one's pocket, sir," Jed answered, "and besides I 
begged you not to put your hand in it, for I was afraid the 
mush might be hot." 

Tutor Blank turned on his heel and beat a retreat, slam- 
ming the door after him. 

The door had scarcely closed when a rather disrespectful 
shout of laughter burst out, and the "gathering of the clans" 
rolled about in ecstatic convulsions. 

234 



A HISTORY AND THE 

REASONS FOR IT 

Edward C. Plummer, '87 



A HISTORY AND THE REASONS TOR IT 

IT has long been my fixed belief that no one should 
indulge in that species of composition which a bound- 
less charity permits the prejudiced to call poetry, unless he 
can show a good and sufficient reason for being so favored. 
Whether or not the lines appended to this article can justify 
their existence under this rule, must be determined from 
the following historic facts. 

Imprimis : The present Faculty of Bowdoin College will 
cautiously admit, what some of their former associates have 
at divers times so emphatically stated, that the late 'sixties 
and early 'seventies were years which brought to this 
famous institution the most nerve-trying students that ever 
sought intellectual development in the quiet town of Bruns- 
wick. 

And this admission is no reflection on the very high grade 
of mischievous ingenuity which enabled other men to 
severely rufifle the theoretically placid waters of student life. 
The 'eighties certainly produced scholars who developed 
quite exceptional talents in this peculiar line, while many a 
snowy-haired graduate will now and then let fall an anec- 
dote which shows that half a century ago the wrinkle- 
creating prank had developed to most troublesome propor- 
tions. But, as the pyramid has one stone which rises above 
all others, though many others are at a great height, so the 
period named above must be recognized as entitled to the 
peculiar honor accorded it here, despite the numerous, and 

237 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

unquestionably sincere, efforts of worthy competitors to 
carry away the palm. 

That student, whose ingenious mind discovered that a 
most satisfactory and hair-raising bonfire could be produced 
by simply digging down to the gas main, knocking a hole 
therein and igniting the gas, thereby causing the fire depart- 
ment to actually hurry to the campus and attempt to extin- 
guish the pillar of fire which other thoughtful students had 
caused the public to believe was destroying the whole insti- 
tution, is not forgotten when the aforesaid palm is awarded ; 
nor is that benign- faced professional gentleman (now so 
well known in New England) whose mathematical exact- 
ness enabled him to so fasten the Chapel doors that nearly 
the entire Faculty together with the great body, of the stu- 
dents remained in that unwarmed hall for nearly an hour 
of a remarkably crisp winter's morning, overlooked. But 
these young men can only be credited with isolated strokes 
of genius — lightning flashes from an otherwise fairly clear 
sky ; they lacked that persistent devotion to unremitting mis- 
chief, the sustained brilliancy in constantly devising unique 
and triumphant assaults upon the much-enduring patience 
of the professors which leads thfe average lay mind to unhes- 
itatingly predict the gallows for every such individual, while 
causing a genuine tidal wave of thankfulness to flood the 
hearts of all instructors when he is gone. 

That such a genius haunted Bowdoin some thirty years 
ago, cannot possibly have been forgotten by any who were 
even distantly connected with the college at that time. But 
as it is one of the eccentricities of human nature that while 
the mere entrance upon the college grounds causes even the 
most sedate alumnus (provided he has no student son there 
to observe him) to again see the deeds of his youth in all 
the glory of their old-time colors, as many, a room in these 

238 



A HISTORY AND THE RIi;ASONS FOR IT 

venerable donnitories could testify after every Commence- 
ment reunion of old friends gathered there, yet the chill of 
the greater world's atmosphere is such that actors in those 
old pranks object to the general publication of their boyhood 
exploits. Therefore, v^diile so many graduates can at once 
identify "Jim," I refrain from giving a more complete name 
at this time, but, with a passing reference to his skill as a 
midnight driller of Freshmen, to the fact that he filled 
with masterly success the highly responsible position of 
"Archon" in Phi Chi, to his humorous bull-dog of which 
Smith's "Ned" in the 'eighties was the first really worthy 
successor, I proceed to the recital of one exploit, which I 
make no doubt is still puzzling the then President of Bow- 
doin College, as an absolutely conclusive argument that Jim 
is entitled to be remembered in verse. 

In the spring of '70, Jim, doubtless feeling the impulse 
of the season, resolved that the variegated program of 
mischief for that year should be completed by the removal 
of the Chapel bell, and, with the assistance of a corps of 
worthy collaborators who, geniuses in themselves, recog- 
nized a still greater genius in him and therefore crowded 
about him, even as the great marshals gathered about 
Napoleon and by such combination made greater conquests 
possible, mapped out the campaign. 

Pennell's ship-yard was made to supply the necessary 
tackle ; the enthusiasm of minds on so bold a project bent 
furnished the necessary energy; and as a result of that 
exceedingly hard night's work the Morning, had it been in 
the secret and supplied with sufficiently powerful eyes, 
might have discovered that Chapel bell safely buried under 
three feet of sand amid the blueberry bushes some two miles 
from the college. 

239 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

Naturally there was a search for the bell, and threats of 
dire punishments awaiting the offenders drifted over the 
student body : but as all this but added a more delicate flavor 
to the delight which crowded the breasts of the guilty 
parties, and produced no other results, notice was given that 
unless that missing Chapel appendage was restored within 
twenty-four hours a general assessment would be made 
upon the entire Sophomore class for the purpose of 
replacing the loss. 

When the Napoleonic band learned that innocent parties 
were to suft'er for their acts, with that sense of strict honor 
which always characterizes the true college mischief-maker, 
they determined to discover the missing article, and the next 
day a mysterious letter, locating the bell, reached the Fac- 
ulty. So the bell was found — ^but it lacked a tongue. 

A new tongue was procured and duly placed beside the 
resurrected bell on the Chapel steps the morning that the 
President had selected to address the students there, pre- 
paratory to hoisting- the bell to its old place in the tower. 

But Jim, with his marshals, was there ; and as the kindly 
President talked to the gathered students ©f the folly of 
such imusual tricks, involving so much useless peril, and, 
warming to the theme, appealed to them to abandon such 
senseless pranks, the lines gradually closed about the 
speaker until, when the address was finished and the beloved 
President, pleased with the expectant faces which had 
remained so earnestly upturned to 'him during the talk, 
ordered the restoration proceedings to begin, it was dis- 
<;overed that the tongue of the bell had again disappeared! 

Jim had actually possessed himself of that important piece 
of metal while the President was speaking. It had passed 
from hand to hand among the faithful until at last it had 
found repose under the hedge. Later it was taken to one 

240 



A HISTORY AND THU REASONS FOR IT 

of the marshals' rooms where it remained while Jim's apart- 
ments, as a matter of principle, were searched — as usual, 
without results. 

This exploit of stealing the bell's tongue from beneath 
the very eyes of the President and at a time when the janitor 
and his assistants were carefully watching all proceedings, 
confirmed Jim's title to the high position which he had 
attained among those who best knew the scope of his 
remarkable type of genius. 

Tt is for this reason that I have felt convinced that no 
prose, however stilted, not even an extract from a Junior's 
theme, could do him justice. Therefore the results of his 
college studies, as well as the circumstances under which I 
recently renewed an old acquaintanceship, are sufficiently 
indicated in the following 

History. 

A song of days when the youthful life 

Was bright with the Morning's glow ; 
When the fields of Fancy with hopes were rife, 
And the heart was hot, and Time's old knife 

Had none of its flowers laid low. 



He came from a home in a quiet town 

Where he was the pride of all ; 
His brow inviting a scholar's crown, 
While a serious air, like a classic gown, 
Seemed over his form to fall. 

He came with a mind aspiring high. 

With the pulse of a lofty soul, 
Resolved in the college world to try 
His swelling powers, and he fixed his eye 
On the highest sort of a goal. 
241 



TAI^DS OF BOWDOIN 

With awe he looked on the halls and trees 

And the points of the granite spires ; 
And bowed to professors with fearful ease, 
Resolved those wonderful men to please 
And know no other desires. 

And every day through the campus walks 

He strode with studious look, 
His heart attuned to the Muses' talks. 
His castles built on the good old rocks 

Of a student lamp and a book. 

And many a night did the midnight air. 

As it crept from the sleeping pines, 
Lift gently the locks of the tumbled hair 
From the throbbing temples of him who there 
Was charging the Grecian lines. 

No thought of the World, or its social gem, 

Could stain that studious mind ; 
The meerschaum bowl with its amber stem. 
The equine books, and things like them. 

He scorned as of evil kind. 

His cheeks grew pale with the ceaseless toil — 

But never a thought of rest; 
Early and late he was proud to moil 
And plant much seed in his mental soil — 

His reward : a rank of the best. 



But Time, the fellow who never tires. 

Who ever has much to do, 
Who cools the heart with the hottest fires 
And steals our hopes and our fond desires, 

Brings change to the student too. 



242 



A HISTORY AND THE REASONS FOR IT 

That room still glows with the midnight lamps, 

But the Muses are far away; 
On the student's table a bull dog camps, 
And smoke wreaths circle, and Laughter stamps 

His smiles on a group at play. 

His numerous prints of the corps ballet 
He shows to his friends with pride; 

He affects the air of a child roue; 

All serious thoughts are to him passe; 
And he walks with a reckless stride. 

And many a night doth his Vvrell-known shout 

Bring fear to the timid heart. 
As he leads a gay collegiate rout, 
And tumbles the new-come student out 

That he may perform his part. 

He drills pale squads in their white robes neat, 

In the "wee sma' hours o' the nights," 
And whistles a tune for their dancing feet. 
While the bull dog aids in the curious treat 
By making pretended bites. 

No longer the class-room seems the field 

Where glory and fame are born; 
The evening stroll and the love revealed 
To ancient nymph, and the troth they've sealed, 

Have caused him his books to scorn. 

He looks on professors as bloodless men 

Devoid of aspiring souls. 
Content to dwell in a bookish den, 
And burrow in this scholastic glen 

Like intellectual moles. 



243 



TAIvDS OF BOWDOIN 

Again the change: With superior eye 

He views all noisy sports ; 
He lets the tasks of the world draw nigh 
And turns his thoughts on the things that try 

The wisdom of camps and courts. 

The problems challenging statesmen's might 

He solves in an evening's talk; 
He scales theology's awful height, 
And puts the tangle of creeds aright 

In the chat of a morning's walk. 

Philosophy soon absorbs his mind — 
He dwells on the things unknown, 
And rambles around 'mid the undefined 
A key to the riddle of life to find, — 
While leaving his books alone. 

At last his days in the college o'er, 

He bids farewell to the halls : 
Professors thankful he'll come no more, 
While sundry damsels, as oft before, 

Shed tears at his final calls. 



We meet again: In the calm retreat 

Of a beautiful church in town, 
Where gather the groups of the bon elite 
In pious splendor, he takes his seat, 
A pastor of much renown. 

The tender voice and the kindly eye. 

The charm of a noble heart, 
The life to its standard kept so nigh. 
Hath made him dear where his duties lie, 

And well he performs his part. 

244 



A HISTORY AND THE REASONS I^OR IT 

But oft as the learned language flows 

From his lips to his listening flock, 
I see the Past o'er the Present close — 
It brushes away Time's whitening snows, 
And dulls mine ears to the talk. 

And Fancy another scene reveals, 

Set deep in the days gone by — 
A youth o'er the silent campus steals, 
A bull dog trotting behind his heels. 

And then comes a well-known cry. 

The breath of the swaying pines returns, 

The river gleams bright below, 
As Memory's glancing sunshine burns 
The mists away, and the heart discerns 

The pictures of long ago. 

The songs and the laughs and the old-time calls, 

The room and the old-time friend, 
The trees and the paths and the plain old halls. 
The gray of the Chapel's windowed-walls, 

From the clouds of the past descend. 



A sigh — and my wife with elbow strong 

Dispels the dream, and I wake 
To the solemn fact of the closing song 
And the contribution-box coming along, 
My hard-earned cash to take. 



THE OLD DELTA 

Albert W. Tolman. '88 



THE OLD DELTA 

THE graduate who visits Bowdoin after an absence of 
several years cannot help feeling that there have been 
many changes for the better. Well-kept grounds, renovated 
dormitories, new buildings and many other signs of prog- 
ress greet him. And if he chances to drop into town on a 
Spring afternoon when he has heard that the ball team is to 
play some other college nine, and loiters up to the Delta 
where he had supposed the contest would take place, a great 
surprise is in store for him ; for here is no g^randstand, no 
gathering of students and townspeople. But if he follows 
the crowd flowing down the Harpswell road and turns into 
a well-worn path through the pines, he is soon within the 
spacious enclosure of Whittier Field. And after he has 
watched the game from the new stand, joined in the college 
yell, and felt his heart thrill with oldtime enthusiasm in the 
companionship of undergraduates unknown to him person- 
ally but filled with the same loyalty to the old college, he 
will no doubt come away, convinced that the athletes of the 
present are fully as good as their predecessors, and that 
athletics in general are on a much better footing than for- 
merly. 

Yet after the contest is over, and on his return he passes 
the old Delta, empty and deserted, he remembers the games 
he used to see there ; and his thoughts go back till they rest 
on some June morning, ten, fifteen, twenty years ago. 



249 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

All the day before it has been raining, and in the morning 
the tops of the tall pines are still full of mist; but as the 
forenoon advances the sun has come out bright and hot, 
mirroring itself in the muddy pools on the diamond. 
To-day decides the championship of the Maine college 
league; and down from Waterville has flashed a telegram 
that the Colby team is coming. 

The grounds must be gotten in shape for the afternoon, 
and the manager is full of business. Brooms, sawdust, 
lime, bases and foul-flags are running riot through his brain. 
There is little work done in the recitation rooms that fore- 
noon. Lessons are gotten through in a perfunctory way. 
Everybody's thought centres on the game. Somehow the 
hours drag by, dinner is over, and the crowd begins to 
gather on the Delta. 

The pitcher's box is filled with sawdust, the base-lines are 
fresh-limed, the bases are in position. "Whisker" is there, 
and other local celebrities. The windows of Adams Hall 
are filled with interested Medics, lured for a few minutes 
from the delights of dissecting. The grandstand blossoms 
gaily out with a mushrcK>m growth of ladies' hats and par- 
asols ; the whitewashed fences stretching away on either side 
are lined with non-paying spectators ; the roads fill with 
carriages ; every moment adds its share to the crowd of stu- 
dents and tow^nsmen. 

Up the street from the Tontine across the railroad track, 
with bat-bags, mask and leathern breastplate, come swing- 
ing a little group of perhaps a dozen men in gray suits and 
red stockings, with the letter "C" upon their breasts, invol- 
untarily clustering close together for the feeling of strength 
that numbers give them, for are the}"- not on alien ground? 
A few minutes more, and the rival teams are taking each 

250 



the; old delta 

other's measure on the field where they are to cross bats for 
the supremacy of the State. 

There is a little preliminary warming-up by each nine ; 
then the captains meet to discuss the conditions of the game 
with the umpire, who consults the oracles by snapping up a 
half dollar. At its fall one of the teams takes the field on 
the run. The same arbiter of destiny produces from a 
bulging pocket a brand-new paper box, from which he tears 
the ball, white and round, and tosses it to the pitcher. One 
of the other nine who has been carefully weighing bats 
steps out from the little group around the settee, and stands 
at the plate, facing the man in the box. The latter, after a 
few cabalistic passes, draws back his arm and then suddenly 
hurls it forward. A streak of white crosses the plate above 
the batsman's shoulder. 

One ball ! 

The game is on, and everybody breathes freer. 

The coachers imlimber and converse across the diamond, 
expressing frank and imsoiicited disapproval of the oppos- 
ing pitcher's strength of arm, or alluding mysteriously to the 
excellence of vision of the man at the bat. As the game 
proceeds, let us take a look at the field. 

There is the pitcher, on whose arm depends the fortune 
of the day, the mainspring of the team, confined for the time 
in his little white-lined parallelogram. Behind and to his 
right and left are shortstop, basemen and fielders looming 
large against the dull-green wall of pine, their seven pairs 
of eyes focused intently on the silent figure standing with 
firm-gripped bat across its shoulder near the dusty square of 
stone. Behind the batsman is the catcher, hands extended 
and feet astride, a masked, gloved, breastplated Colossus. 
Around the upper end of the field in the form of an irreg- 
ular crescent stretches the crowd, an inflammable mass of 

251 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

human tinder, ready to be kindled with enthusiasm or 
chilled to despair by the varying fortunes of the game. 

But what need to describe details ? There are good plays 
and bad plays; pyrotechnic catches and stops, and heart- 
breaking errors; breathless moments of excitement and 
occasional spasms of disgust; long hits that start a twink- 
ling scurry of red or blue stockings around the bases and 
send precious runs across the plate, and short hits that nip 
hopes in the bud and cause runners to be most unexpectedly 
doubled up. Now there is an error at a critical time, almost 
inexcusable, (as it seems to the anxious crowd), and at the 
end of the inning the man who has made it comes in, some- 
times sullen, sometimes defiant, but oftener with hanging 
head and eyes that have a suspicion of moisture, swallowing 
hard to keep down an unnatural growth in the throat. Now 
a Ihie hit, lost in the underbrush near the fence, sets the 
right-fielder madly pawing about in the grass and scrub 
pines, while the runners are tearing around the bases with 
a most unfeeling disregard for his anxiety. Occasionally a 
stray ball picks off one of the "yagger" heads that are 
watching the pitcher's curves from just over the foul-board. 
Then comes a panicky season when everybody is throwing - 
wild. One man gets the ball only to hurl it over the head 
of the next, who follows suit, going his predecessor a few 
feet better. Finally some calm-nerved, clear-headed player 
stops the carnage, the sm.oke clears away, and casualties in 
the shape of runs made or lost mav be counted. 

Then comes the customary wrangle ; was ever a ball game 
played without one? The umpire becomes an unwilling 
nucleus around which an excited group of players centres ; 
on him are the vials of wrath poured out ; he is the scape- 
goat, the pariah against whom is every man's hand. Spec- 
tators add themselves to the circle; there is a waving of 

252 



ruit OLD DKLTA 

hands, a sh.ikino; of fists, a turmoil ; everybody is talking at 
once. Suddenly, a scattering ; and the game goes on. 

The sixth inning is over and the score is very close. 
From now on it is see-saw, anybody's game ; one error, one 
good play, one happy swing of the bat may decide it. The 
joviality of the first part of the contest has vanished ; there 
is no more "jollying" ; matters are in a too serious condition ; 
Bowdoin has a lead of one run and is anxious to retain her 
advantage; Colby is fighting by inches to overtake her; the 
nerves of both teams are taut as fiddle-strings. Even the 
leathern lungs of the coachers show signs of wear ; they are 
hoarse-throated and dry-mouthed, and their voices break 
occasionally ; their assurance has disappeared. Among 
the audience nobody is really enjoying the game ; the inter- 
est has become too painful. 

The seventh inning passes, and neither side adds to its 
score; the eighth is the same. Now for the finish. One 
more chance apiece. 

The sun is well down in the West, and its rays strike 
full in the faces of the fielders and basemen. It is a good 
time for the batters. Bowdoin is up with the weak end of 
her list, but she makes a gallant try to increase her score. 
By the time two men are out she has runners on second 
and third. And now come the strong batters. 

"Here's where we clinch the game !" shouts the captain. 

The man up swings his bat quickly at the first pitch. 
There is a sharp report, and the sphere darts away on a line 
toward the vacant spot between centre and right. A roar 
of applause rises from the crowd, for a safe hit means two 
runs. But alas for their hopes ! As the ball passes over 
the head of the second baseman he leaps into the air, flings 
up an avaricious hand, and pulls it down. An utter death- 
like silence follows close upon that incipient abortive cheer; 

253 



TAI^ES OF BOWDOIN 

then a hearty handclapping, for such a play wins applause 
even from an enemy. 

And nov/ it is Colby's turn, with the heaviest hitters on 
her list to come. It is one to tie and two to win. What 
will she do? 

The first man answers his share of the question by 
striking- out; and there is some enthusiasm. The next 
player chills the general Bowdoin spine and sets the few 
Colby supporters delirious by a long level drive between 
centre and left, that puts him on second base. The third 
man flies to shortstop. Only one more, but the worst man 
on the team, the hard-hitting, devil-may-care Colby captain. 

Now let the Bowdoin pitcher do his best, for the laurel 
of victory or the cypress of defeat hangs on the next few 
seconds. 

The first ball is called a strike, and there comes a cheer 
from the stand. Then follow two balls. Then amid pro- 
digious enthusiasm the batter lunges spitefully at a quick 
drop and misses it. Another ball. The next will settle it. 

The stillness of death is over the field. You could almost 
hear a needle fall from one of the tall pines ; no sound but 
the rattle of wheels down the Bath road, the heavy puffing 
of a locomotive at the station. Five hundred graven images 
are watching the next move in the drama. 

The players stand motionless as statues ; the fielders erect ; 
the basemen and shortstop bareheaded, dusty, stooping for- 
ward with feet spread, left hand on the knee, the right 
shading the eyes, with lips apart, tense muscles, and palpi- 
tating hearts. 

Perhaps the pitcher's arm was tired, as well it might be 
after two hours of strenuous work; perhaps the crisis 
unnerved him; or it may be that the batsman instinctively 

254 



TlIi: OLD DOI^TA 

fathomed the curve that was thrown. Whatever the cause, 
the result is disastrous from a Eowdoin standpoint. 

As he sees coming toward him the ball that is to decide 
the season, the batsrnan gathers himself together, and throws 
all his strength of arm and shoulder into one tremendous 
swing. There is a report like that of a young cannon. 
High in the air soars the ball, beyond second base, beyond 
centre field, until it plunges into the pines, still a good ten 
feet from the ground. 

That settles it. Before the runner has made the circuit 
of the bases, the stand is emptying and the crowd has begun 
to pass out through the fence. Bowdoin may win the 
championship — some other year. But for this season the 
chance disappeared with the ball that the auburn-haired 
Colby captain drove into the pines between centre and right. 

To-night no photograph gallery will bum ; no purloined 
sidewalks or fences will send up their sparks from the 
central walk of the campus to vex the midnight stars ; nor 
will the dreams of Brunswick sleepers be broken by the 
unmusical jangling of the Chapel bell. The talk at the 
clubs at supper is subdued, everybody gets to bed early, and 
an uninterrupted gloom reigns from Winthrop to Appleton. 

Let no one think it strange that I have chosen to chronicle 
defeat rather than victory. It is no disgrace to lose to a 
plucky foe, and it is well for a college to remember that no 
matter how high her standing, it is always dangerous to be 
over-confident, and she must guard her laurels well. 

It is enough for the most enthusiastic Bowdoin man that 
there was far more of victory than defeat on the old Delta. 
Memory runs back to the teams that used to come to join 
battle there. Perhaps it was M. S. C, with brown, mus- 
cular arms bare to the shoulder, as fine a looking ball team 

255 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

as ever set foot on a Maine diamond; M. S. C. with a six- 
foot-six centre-fielder, who dropped on one knee and raised 
appealing hands heavenward when on the point of making 
a catch, and who was credited with the power of throwing 
the ball from his position over the catcher's fence. Perhaps 
it was Bates, always ready for a stubborn fight. Perhaps it 
was a picked team from Massachusetts, filled with the idea 
that anything was good enough to play ball down in Mame, 
who went back, sadder and wiser men, after having made 
the circuit of the State colleges and getting unmercifully 
trounced in each. 

There were giants in the Maine league in those days, or 
at least so they seemed to undergraduate eyes. Goodwin, 
Wagg and Parsons of Colby; Underwood, Thayer and 
Sandford cf Bates; Small, Rogers and Ray of M. S. C. ; 
and Bowdoin men from whom it would be invidious for an 
alumnus to make selections, valorous wielders of the ash, 
mighty on the coaching lines as Achilles good-at-the 
war-cry. 

What memories of Sophomore-Freshman wrangles, of 
Senior burlesques, of alumni games with the college team 
trying not to get so far ahead of the old fellows as to hurt 
their feelings ! Some graduates may remember when one 
tall batter performed the unduplicated feat of putting the 
ball over the great pine in centre field. Perhaps, too, some 
will recall the song of Honorable Michael Coyne, which a 
soloist whose voice has been heard on many a platform 
during the last two Presidential campaigns, sang to a too 
partial umpire, with the front row of the grandstand joining 
in the chorus, the crowd cheering and laughing, the coachers 
shouting from the sidelines, and the unwilling object of 
these attentions endeavoring to make his voice heard above 
the tumult. 

256 



THE OLD DELTA 

One of the most curious and exciting: incidents that ever 
took place on the Delta occurred during a game with Colby. 
The Bowdoin batter knocked a grounder to the infield, and 
a runner started home from third base. The ball was 
returned to the catcher, who stood about four feet from the 
plate. Just as it touched his hands the runner dove between 
his legs, upsetting him, and down he came on the shoulders 
of his antagonist, pinning him to the ground. The shock 
caused the Colby man to drop the ball, which rolled two or 
three feet away. It was a most peculiar situation. There 
was the runner with eyes bulging from his head, nailed to 
the ground by the catcher's weight, straining to touch the 
plate, only about a foot from the tips of his fingers. There 
was the catcher reaching for the ball just about a foot from 
his finger-tips, but not daring to rise, for that would let the 
runner make the coveted distance. Matters were in this 
state for about fifteen seconds, when a Bowdoin player 
darted from the bench, seized the Colby man by the shoul- 
ders and rolled him off, allowing the runner to score. Just 
at this time the entire grandstand emptied itself in a rush 
for the spot. The catcher seized a bat and stood on the 
defensive; but every one soon calmed down and the game 
went on. 



BOWDOIN UNDER FIRE 

Chari^es a. Curtis, '6i 



BOWDOIN UNDER TIRE 

(CANNOT contribute something concerning the Bow- 
doin Battalion of the early Summer of 1861, without 
first accounting for myself and explaining how I came to 
be its military instructor. 

I fitted for college with the large contingent from Lewis- 
ton Falls Academy which entered Bowdoin in 1857, but did 
not present myself for examination. In February of the 
following year I entered the Military College of Vermont 
and received full instruction in infantry and artillery tactics, 
in fencing, and in the art and science of war. From early 
childhood I had known of Bowdoin and had looked forward' 
to one day being enumerated among its students and grad- 
uates. Accident, the nature of which it is unnecessary to 
mention, ordered otherwise. My journeys four times a year 
to and from fitting schools and the Vermont college, from 
1855 to 1861, always took me through Brunswick and I 
rarely neglected to stop off and visit Bowdoin friends, so 
that my acquaintance there was never fully interrupted until 
the outbreak of the Civil War. 

At the Lewiston Falls Academy my fellow students 
fancied me a quasi-military genius and regularly selected 
me for marshal of their academic processions, and in the 
Presidential campaign of 1856 they made me commandant 
of a club which perpetrated more mischief than it accom- 
plished good for the party of Fremont and Dayton ; notably 
the alteration of a Republican flag to a Democratic, which 

261 



TALKS OF BOWDOIN 

filled the papers of the partisan press for a month or more 
and frightened the reckless perpetrators of the prank into a 
silence which lasted for years. 

In marching this youthful Republican club my tactics 
were of the most original character, and it was probably 
owing to this fact that the Lewiston Academy boys trans- 
ferred to Bowdoin, voted to a man against the proposition 
to employ mc as the military instructor of the Bowdoin 
Battalion. The veterans of the old "F. U." could not realize 
that their former commandant had improved his tactical 
knowledge. 

I had returned to my native State in the Spring of i86i^ 
during a month's vacation, and was employed in drilling 
volunteers for the Civil War. While engaged in this work 
in the Kennebec valley I was invited to visit Brunswick and 
meet a body of the Bowdoin students with a view to its 
organization as a battalion for military drill. 

The invitation reached me near the close of my vacation, 
when I was getting ready to return to the Vermont college ; 
but the proposition proved so attractive that I wrote Pres- 
ident Woods and asked if I might be allowed to attend 
Senior recitations and lectures if I accepted the students' 
oflfer. He kindly consented and one pleasant afternoon I 
stood before about one hundred and fifty students drawn 
up in line before King Chapel. Thus I took my first step 
toward becoming an alumnu,s by brevet of Bowdoin College. 

The student battalion was, of course, ununiformed. It 
was composed of members of all classes, an unsized mass 
of green, but intelligent and enthusiastic young men, 
who seemed thoroughly in earnest and proved themselves 
promptly responsive to every command given them, as well 
as attentive to all lectures and explanations. In after years, 
when drilling recruits for the regular army and finding the 

262 



BOWDOIN UNDER FIRE 

task weary, and irksome, my thou.efhts have frequently 
reverted to the Bowdoin Battalion, the members of which 
so rapidly and readily acquired a knowledge of the drill. 

The military exercises, as before remarked, began on the 
campus before the Chapel, that section of the grounds being 
at that time unobstructed by trees or shrubbery. Few 
instances of insubordination occurred as the work pro- 
gressed. In abandoning the inalienable right of American 
citizens to buck against despotic rule or to submit them- 
selves to the absolute authority of a militarv commander, 
there were but occasional instances of objection — instances 
invariably made use of to impress the young soldiers with 
the necessity of maintaining discipline and obeying orders. 

The one serious as well as amusing case of mischievous 
insubordination I will now relate. One afternoon, some 
weeks after the formal organization of the battalion into 
companies and the election of officers, when all the forma- 
tions and marching movements had been quite thoroughly 
learned, a dray delivered before the south front Chapel 
door eight boxes containing twenty rifles each. This door 
opened into a room which had been assigned the corps as 
an armory. Ready and willing hands conveyed the boxes 
to the interior, where they were opened and their contents 
displayed to the eager youngsters. A first view of the 
arms showed me that they needed cleaning from oil and 
dirt, and I accordingly distributed one rifle with a screw- 
driver to each student, and then in their presence took one 
apart and assembled it, requiring them to do the same. 
When this was done I gave some further instruction con- 
cerning material to be used in cleaning, how to apply it, 
and how to keep arms and accoutrements in serviceable 
condition, and then ordered every one to take his rifle to 
his room and next day appear in line with it in proper shape. 

263 



TAL:eS OF BOWDOIN 

That evening at the club with which I messed — a club 
occupying a house near the Tontine Hotel — a student asked 
me how to make a cartridge. This was in the days of 
the paper cartridge and "load in nine times." I told him 
to obtain a piece of wrapping paper and I would show him. 
He went out and soon returned with sheets of manila paper 
sufficient to supply all the members of the club, and by 
using granulated sugar for gunpowder I showed them how 
to make blank cartridges. 

As I left the table and was passing through the hallway 
to the outer door, a student who afterwards became a gallant 
Colonel of volunteers, asked me to accompany him on a 
drive to Topsham and into the country. 

I gladly accepted the invitation and when I had taken a 
seat beside my friend in a light buggy behind a fine bay 
trotter, all the boys of the club surrounded us and wished 
me an enjoyable excursion and begged my companion to 
show me several fine moonlight views of the Androscoggin. 
He assured them that that was his intention and told his 
room-mate not to look for his return until eleven. 

The drive needs little description. Every Bowdoin boy 
has been over the ground many times, driving, riding and 
walking. My companion whiled away the time, as we spun 
rapidly into the country, by relating college experiences — 
most of them accounts of his prowess in stealing marches 
and playing tricks upon an inappreciative and arbitrary 
P'aculty, — stories which, after the college manner, never 
deal with cases where the professor proves himself the better 
man, but which always magnify the student's brilliancy and 
art in concealing his motives or accomplishing results. On 
the return drive he dropped into sentiment and confided 
to me the fact that he was ardently in love with a young 
lady student of the boarding-school situated opposite the 

264 



BOWDOIN UNDER I'lRiS 

campus. He had been fond of her for a longf time and had 
exchanged many letters and gifts with her. He drew from 
his pocket a delicate note emitting a slight odor of violets 
and by the brilliant moonlight read a few lines in which the 
writer said that if he would come over that evening at 
half-past ten and whistle "Ever of Thee" from the clump 
of lilacs beneath her window she would throw him a beauti- 
ful bouquet. 

"And of course you are going to do it?" I remarked. 

"That is what I wish to do," he replied, "but I don't 
believe I can manage the tune." And directly he began to 
whistle something which bore no resemblance whatever to 
the air mentioned, or any other air. 

"Let me start it for you," I said, and I sang air and 
words through and paused. 

"That's mighty fine," he observed. "Now I'll try it.'* 
But his second attempt showed.no improvement over the 
first. He slowed the horse to a walk and I patiently whis- 
tled strain after strain and he appeared as patiently to be 
trying to imitate me, but succeeded only in impressing me 
with the conviction that music had no place in his soul. 

"Really. I fear you will not obtain that 'beautiful bouquet' 
unless I go and whistle for you." 

"Will you — will you — Mr. Curtis ?" he exclaimed. "You 
do not know what a favor you will do me if you will !" 

"But will not the young woman see two in the bush and 
fail to respond?" 

"Not a bit of it. We can reach the lilacs without being 
seen, and once among them no one will know whether we 
are one, two, or a dozen. Oh, I'm all right! I knew I 
was whistling wretchedly. Give me your hand on it that 
you'll never tell a soul of this confidence I've placed in you, 
or of what we do." 

265 



TAI^ES OF BOWDOIN 

I gave him my hand and he made me wince with the 
fervor of his clasp. Next he looked at his watch in the 
moonlight and remarked that we must continue to go slow 
for a brief time longer in order not to reach the seminary 
before half-past ten. 

My companion continued to unbosom himself of many 
delightful sentimentalities and each succeeding moonlit 
view of the Androscoggin valley suggested some excursion, 
picnic, walk or ride in which she of the lilac bush had been 
a participant ; but in time we reached the Tontine stables, 
put up the horse and took our way up through the Mall to 
the boarding-school. 

Screened by maples and elms we reached the school 
unseen, crept through a hedge into a back yard, where from 
lines stretched between posts and trees waved the spotless 
lingerie of the sleeping maidens, and at last stood concealed 
in a dense clump of lilacs beneath an oriel window, from 
which the "beautiful bouquet" was to fall. 

I found it difficult to make the preliminary pucker, for 
my lips and tongue were as parched as those of a stage- 
frightened actor, and it took me several minutes to produce 
an imperfect and sadly modulated imitation of "Ever of 
Thee." But the promptness with which the young lady 
raised the sash, thrust out a shapely and snowy arm and 
dropped a bunch of fragrant roses showed that my friend 
would not have gone unrewarded had he done his own 
whistling and in any style. 

We returned to the street without delay and as we paused 
for an instant on the sidewalk, facing the long line of college 
buildings, suddenly, from every window and every doorway 
of every dormitory bla^^ed volleys of musketry filling the air 
with the rattle of irregular discharge. I remained standing 
in fixed surprise, but mv companion rushed, without a word 

266 



BOWDOIN UNDIiR FlRU 

of leave taking, across the read at the top of his speed, 
vaulted over the fence into the campus and ran swiftly for 
his room in Appleton Hall. 

I did not run. I walked slowly in the tracks of my wily 
friend, busy with the unpleasant reflection that the evening's 
drama had been played for the purpose of keeping me out 
of the way, and that I had been made an instrument in 
aid of what was now going on, I had showed the boys 
how to make cartridges and for the five hours since I left 
the supper table at the club, a hundred and fifty youngsters 
had been busy in making preparations for a grand fusi- 
lade, — yes, they had successfully kept me amused and suc- 
cessfully prevented me from interfering with their plans. 
The constant flash and unceasing rattle of the rifles showed 
that the boys had wasted no time in their preparations. 

Three years and more at a well-disciplined military school 
had caused me to forget the natural impulse of youths with 
firearms in their hands, and I had never once suspected the 
animating cause of what I had considered a commendable 
desire to know how to make a cartridge. Now it seemed 
plainly evident that from the issue of arms they had planned 
this demonstration and that every man of the Bowdoin 
Battalion had purchased powder and percussion caps and 
worked industriously in the preparation of ammunition. 

I took my way to the Chapel and sat down on the 
threshold of the armory and continued my reflections upon 
what I had omitted to do when instructing my command on 
the cleaning and care of arms. I did not think of attempt- 
ing to stay the demonstration going on. I knew that would 
be practically impossible. I simply determined that at the 
next drill I would take measures to prevent a recurrence of 
this noisy, dangerous and insubordinate conduct. In the 
midst of these resolutions five figures approached hurriedly 

267 



TALlJS OP BOWDOIN 

from one of the paths — figures I presently recognized to 
be those of the President, a Professor and three tutors, and 
learned they were in search of me. The President made 
an instant demand that I should stop the firing. I replied 
that I should have prevented it had I not been out of town 
when the students were preparing for it, and that I should 
have stopped it promptly upon my return had it been pos- 
sible — that the firing was too general and scattered for one 
man or a dozen to stop it — that an attempt to do so would 
afiFord the participants in the mischief more satisfaction 
than they were now deriving from mere fire and noise. But 
the President insisted I should accompany him and try 
to stop it. 

I accordingly joined the party and we moved toward 
Appleton, I walking beside the Professor, a gentleman 
who went to the front a little later and who became a 
Major General of distinguished ability in the war, and who 
had shown considerable interest in the Bowdoin Battalion, 
frequently attending its drills, listening to commands and 
observing- the responsive movements. I found the Pro- 
fessor entertained the same opinion I did of the firing. He 
remarked in an undertone: "The young scamps will have 
to carry their fun to the end, as the President will presently 
learn." 

As we approached Appleton we found the north end in 
a blaze of light; flashes of exploding gunpowder streamed 
from its windows and doorway, wreaths of smoke rose 
above its roof and floated into the pines in its rear, and the 
noise was continuous and ear-splitting. We walked toward 
the door, but instantly the firing party concentrated there 
and filled the aperture from top to bottom with sheets of 
flame and the President and his companions flattened their 
backs against the brick v/all and waited. 

268 



BOWDOIN UNDUR FIRE; 

"Oh, Professor!" shouted an irreverent Sophomore from 
a window overhead. "First time under fire ! — How do you 
like it?" 

The Professor looked amused and then turning to the 
•President he said: 

"Doctor, I think Mr. Curtis is right, the boys will have to 
fire their last cartridge before they stop. We had better 
adjourn." 

The President said something in reply which I did not 
hear, and a moment later the party disappeared down a path 
toward town. Left alone I again approached the door, 
watched for a lull in the firing and dropping upon all fours 
dashed under the rifle muzzles into the hallway and to the 
room of one of my officers. 

I made no comment upon the proceedings, not even sug- 
gesting a stay of them ; but sat down and patiently awaited 
their cessation. About half-past eleven the reports became 
gradually desultory, and at last ceased, and I went back to 
my room in Winthrop Hall and to bed. Once more, near 
two o'clock, there was a slight resumption of firing but 
lighter than before and lasting less than a quarter of an 
hour. I felt satisfied that the last cartridge had been fired. 

The following morning while at a late breakfast a mes- 
senger from President Woods summoned me to his office. 
I found the eminent gentleman in great apparent distress, 
disturbed by the unusual event just described and lack of 
a night's sleep. He received me with his usual distin- 
guished courtesy, first speaking in praise of the military 
drill and commending the rapidity with which it had been 
perfected. He said he had watched the process with inter- 
est and felt pleased with the promptness in attendance which 
had been secured — a promptness the good eflfect of which 
the whole college felt in the improved attendance at chapel 

269 



TAI,US Olf BOVVDOIN 

and recitations; but that last night's experience had con- 
vinced him that tirearms should never be intrusted to the 
hands of the ordinary college boy and that under no circum- 
stances should they have in their possession the means of 
discharging them. 

I replied that I had been connected with a college where 
arms were constantly in the hands of its corps of cadets, 
and that no firing occurred there except by order, and that 
I could effect the same observance at Bowdoin. 

The President differed from me. He said Bowdoin was 
not under military discipline, that its Faculty was unac- 
quainted with military methods of enforcing discipline, and 
that over twenty years experience in governing the young 
had taught him the wisdom of removing special tempta- 
tions from their way. 

I pleaded hard for the military feature — promised that 
if he would turn the management of the matter over, to me 
I v/ould guarantee that a similar disturbance should never 
again take place. 

He commended my self-confidence — acknowledged it was 
an excellent trait for a military man — and apologized for 
doubting if a boy could develop the necessary authority 
over boys to warrant the college government in permitting 
the students to longer continue in possession of dangerous 
weapons; finally reluctantly consenting to permit firing at 
drills for practice and under orders ; but insisting that 
rifles and ammunition should be regularly locked in the 
armory at the close of each day's military exercises. 

It will be difficult, no doubt, for me to reconcile my sub- 
sequent conduct with my military profession. At Norwich 
I had been taught to obey orders unquestioningly, and for 
nearly four years had been in the habit of doing so. But 
when my battalion fell in the following day with shining 

270 



BOWDOIN UNDER FIRE 

rifles and bayonets and polished accoutrements; when I saw 
it march down Alaine street to the Topsham bridge in per- 
fect alignment and step ; in column of company or platoons ; 
in parallel lines or extended column; performing a succes- 
sion of evolutions without an error or break, and when after 
a double-quick return to the college I brought it into line 
before the Chapel, a resolution formed and became fixed 
that I must show the President that this gallant corps of 
American boys was susceptible of thorough military control. 
I reflected that failure would cost me little and success 
would mean not only much for me but for all these boys. 
However. I did not at once yield to temptation and to my 
desire to show that military control could be successfully 
exercised over the Bowdoin students ; I waited until the 
third day after my interview with President Woods. 

Before dismissing the battalion on the third day I made 
a short speech. I did not tell of my interview with the head 
of the college, and the surviving members of the battalion 
who may chance to read this will now first learn of it. I 
simply dwelt upon the gravity of their recent conduct 
from a military point of view, and of the disappointment 
it had caused me. In acknowledging the fact that we were 
only playing soldier I strongly insisted we should play it 
up to the best model. In closing I said : "Every man who 
will promise me on his honor as a gentleman and a soldier 
that he will not again fire his rifle except under the com- 
mand of recognized authority or in the execution of duty, 
or do any other act likely to bring discredit upon our organ- 
ization, will, at the command 'March,' advance four paces 
to the front and halt." 

I gave the order and the whole line advanced one, two, 
three, four steps in perfect time and stood fast and silent! 
From that day until I left Bowdoin for the Army of the 

271 



TAI^^S 01? BOWDOIN 

Potomac each student had charge of his rifle and equip- 
ments. 

July 1 6th arrived and I had made arrangements to accom- 
pany a Maine regiment to Washington on the 17th. I 
called on President Woods to say good by and then con- 
fessed that I had disobeyed his orders in regard to keeping 
the arms in the armory. He showed no surprise, but sur- 
prised me by saying that he knew of the course I had taken, 
and that while he could not commend it or think it con- 
sistent with my otherwise excellent military conduct, he 
would frankly acknowledge that I had excellent control of 
my command and that he was fast becoming a convert to 
the advantages of military methods in managing the young. 

For years in the army I continued to meet brave and 
gallant officers who had taken their primary military 
instruction in the Bowdoin Battalion. The triennial cata- 
logue contains the names of man)'' men who filled well every 
grade from Lieutenant to Major General, who were first 
under fire at Bowdoin on the memorable night I have 
attempted to describe. 

The same afternoon upon which I took leave of President 
Woods I called at the young ladies' boarding school to 
say adieu to some pleasant friends I had made there. As 
I paused in the hall to lay aside my hat I heard some one 
in an adjoining parlor playing "Ever of thee I'm fondly 
dreaming," while some one else was executing a whistling 
accompaniment which was certainly artistically performed. 
Looking in at the door I saw the maiden of the snowv arm, 
who once dropped a bouquet from an oriel window, looking 
up fondly into the eyes of my companion of the Topsham 
drive, and heard her say : "And he really never suspected 
you could whistle it?" 

272 



AN INQUISITION OF 1835 

James Plaisted Webber, 'oo 



AN INQUISITION Or 1635 

IT is the year 1835, fifteen years before Harriet Beecher 
Stowe began writing "Uncle Tom's Cabin" in the white 
house on "Back" Street, twenty-five years before Major 
Anderson pulled down the Stars and Stripes at Fort 
Sumpter. 

Conservative Brunswick town still looks askance at anti- 
slavery movements and feels that it is a pity that such a 
man as Prof. Blithe should so compromise his dignity as 
to identify himself with the unpopular cause. It is well 
known that he is an active station agent of the underground 
railway. Time and again in the dusk of twilight a black 
face lias appeared at the Professor's door and a second later 
been hurried within to depart, — none can tell ; only the 
runaway, if such he be, disappears. 

Remonstrance and pleading are alike unavailing. The 
Professor never swerves. Carry on his transportation, he 
will. Popularity and unpopularity are of small account to 
Professor Blithe. The earnest soul says, "I try to carry 
out, as far as in me lies, the duties which I feel God has 
placed upon me." 

Sympathy awaits him, nevertheless, in at least one place. 
That is amidst the young democracy of his classroom, 
among the enthusiastic lads who in their manhood will shed 
their blood for this very cause, even as with words they 
fight out the Professor's battles with the townspeople. 

275 



TAIyES OF BOWDOIN 

But townspeople are not the only ones to look with dis- 
favor on Professor Blithe's conduct. The Board of Trus- 
tees has long since got wind of his doings and frequent 
discussion of the case ripens into a determination to make 
some change in the Chair of Mathematics. Upon what 
ground shall they take this action and what shall be the 
nature of the change ? The last question is left hanging in 
air, but the first is readily answered. No matter how fine 
a master of Mathematics a professor may be, (and Pro- 
fessor Blithe was peer to the best), there are, as everyone 
knows, in every college class some notable laggards and 
dullards. The Board decides then to swoop down suddenly 
Upon one of Professor Blithe's recitations, notice that at 
least one or two men do not seem proficient in their work, 
and then make the change, whatever it may be, on the 
ground that while undoubtedly Professor Blithe is himself 
a competent mathematician, his classes are not making quite 
the progress desired. 

News of the plot, however, reaches one of the boys the 
day before the proposed investigation. After class he noti- 
fies every member of the scheme to entrap Professor Blithe 
and each turns away with a look of determination. If you 
call at the room of any of those fellows early that evening, 
you will find the door locked. If you pound,.and kick until 
you get a response it will only be that the occupant is too 
busy to see you and that you had better go to blazes. If 
you call an hour or two later, you probably will meet with 
the same cordial reception. At midnight the tallow-dips 
still twinkle in many a room in Winthrop and Maine. How 
much later they burn depends upon their owner's ability in 
Mathematics. 

At early chapel, the following morning, there enter three 
austere individuals, doleful as a coroner's jury. Many of 

276 



AN INQUISITION OF 1835 

the Students do not know who they are nor the cause of 
their visit to Bowdoin, but everyone taking Mathematics 
knows. Professor Blithe too is not long in interpreting the 
sinister glance cast upon him as he takes his place. 

An hour later the examination begins. The Three 
Worthies sit on a little, raised, platform in the recitation 
room in old Massachusetts, while Professor Blithe standing 
near by with his face full of serenity opens the recitation. 

"Wigand." 

Wigand ! Everybody knew that he was the worst man 
in the class. Why wouldn't the Professor confine his recita- 
tion as nearly as possible to the brilliant men? Why 
wouldn't he at least make a good beginning, say with 
Dalton, or Dole, the prize men, or with some of the lestser 
lights? But Professor Blithe would sooner turn the odds 
against, than favor himself. "Wigand," repeats the Pro- 
iess-OT, "You may demonstrate the first theorem." The 
aforesaid Wigand has not opened his head in recitation for 
two weeks, but he is beginning right ; — beginning right, yes, 
he is continuing right. Through all the mazes of a really 
complicated figure he goes to his "Q. E. D.," which he gives 
with great gusto. With a feeling of relief, tKe class settles 
back, expecting that the next man up will be one of the real 
scholars. 

"Bower!" calls Professor Blithe. Bower is a hard- 
working, slow-thinking chap who always gets confused 
under unusual circumstances and requires two weeks every 
time he has a new instructor before he gains confidence 
enough to do himself justice. "Bower," says the Professor, 
"may give the converse." A deep flush spreads over 
Bower's face, as the blood rushes to his head, and an 
ominous tremor accompanies his first words. Then with a 
clenched fist and a "do-it-or-die" look in his eye, in a tone of 

277 



TAIyES OP BOWDOIN 

sdf-confidence which must have amazed even himself he 
landed safely on his conclusion. 

A feeling- of enthusiasm now seized the class. Man after 
man made a brilliant recitation, ten-strikes they would be 
called in modern days. 

Nothing of criticism or correction was offered until 
Twing, the last man to recite, was half way through the 
last theorem of the lesson. Then one of the Worthies, 
glancing at his neighbors, as if to say "Now or never," 
prepared to interrupt the speaker. "Young man !" he broke 
forth, "Young man, go back and prove that line a b=line 
c d. You did not make that sufficiently clear." Poor old 
muddle-headed Trustee! Twing had shown twice in the 
course of his demonstration that the two were unequal, and 
he politely said as much, to the confusion of the inquisitor. 

A moment later the hour was over and with it closed a 
Mathematics recitation whose like, I imagine, has never 
been seen before or since at Bowdoin or any other college. 
The boys with enthusiastic congratulation went to their next 
recitation. The Three Worthies, after shaking hands stiffly 
with Professor Blithe, betook themselves to the old Tontine 
that they might leave Brunswick on the next stage for 
Portland. Professor Blithe wended his way homeward, 
where he fitted out a packet for Sambo Snowball, who had 
arrived from "Ole Virginny, Sah !" via Boston and Bath, 
that morning, and must be shipped Canada-ward immedi- 
ately, and then from his study window he threw to the 
breezes that swayed the whispering pines the first Abolition 
flag floated in Cumberland County. 



RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF I87I-5 

Christopher H. Wells, '75 



RANDO/W RECOLLECTIONS OE 1671-5 

A TALE of BowdoinI But where shall one begin to 
write, and having once begun where shall he end? 
The experiences of a four years' course in college, delightful 
as they are, crowd confusingly in one's memory after the 
lapse of a quarter of a centur}'. One who would record 
them hardly sees where he may first touch upon them, and 
once they have begun to be expressed they continue crowd- 
ing so earnestly and in such a multitude that they almost 
command the pen to continue its work indefinitely. What- 
ever may be written here, however, will necessarily be at 
random, and disconnected, and will pertain to the lighter 
rather than to the more serious side of college life. Some- 
how or other those things which we go to college to acquire 
and which we ought to remember pass quickly from our 
minds, while all the things that we were expected not to 
learn cling to our mem.ory with most delightful tenacity. 

A college course, therefore, is not, in the memory of the 
average student, a succession of recitations and studies, of 
roots and cosines, essays and discussions, but it is a vita- 
scopic picture of many a delightful walk and trip, of jokes 
and capers and unmalicious pranks springing out of health- 
ful and vigorous animal spirits. Poor Richard has said that 
"Kings and bears often worry their keepers." He should 
to these have added college boys as a source of worriment to 
those under whose charge they are. If a chastening influ- 
ence makes men better, college presidents and professors, 

281 



TALES or BOWDOIN 

who are at all times subjected to the quiet criticism and 
ingenious opposition of students, must be about as near 
perfect as human beings well can be. 

Doubtless Bowdoin has changed much since the class of 
'75 left it. Educational institutions change in spirit and 
policy in the course of years. The alumni of preceding 
years fear that these changes are not for the better, and 
though the process of evolution leads upward and the 
educational movement is ahead, yet there are some con- 
ditions of the olden times which we would like to see 
remaining. 

A quarter of a century ago the boys at Bowdoin consti- 
tuted a big family. There were the Greek letter societies, 
of course, and at the beginning of each year there was con- 
siderable activity in "fishing" for candidates, but after these 
had been selected and initiated, society life was not unduly 
conspicuous in our college experiences. The societies tried 
to get the popular men, or the best scholars, but in the 
general life of the college then there was but little evidence 
of clique or faction. The students participated in affairs 
of friendship or society without special reference to what 
Greek-letter organization they belonged to. There was an 
air of comradeship running through the college, a communal 
feeling that made for the best results, both for the students 
and the college itself. Under such conditions a college is 
a grand school of democracy. It brings out the best there 
is in the student and places merit and character above adven- 
titious circumstances. The recollections of a college life 
tinder such conditions are broad and catholic and peculiarly 
pleasant and satisfying. The recent tendencv in college life 
seems to be in the direction of a narrower field of associ- 
ation, of a more restricted spirit of loyalty to college. The 
secret society seems to be uppermost in college life, and 

282 



RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OE 1 87 1 -75 

the life of the studtMit comes within the narrower circle of 
its influence. The breadth of college life, the strength of 
college friendships and the fullness of college memories 
cannot be the same under such environment as they were in 
days now long gone. 

"Bowdoin in the Rebellion" has been written, but, strange 
to relate, there is no reference whatever to that most 
momentous occurrence, the Rebellion of '74. This is one 
of the most important events in the history of the college 
and it seems as thotigh allusion to it may properly be made. 

The class of '75 was made the subject of various experi- 
ments. The members were healthy looking boys with gen- 
erous appetites and a large fund of animal spirits, and the 
Faculty probably thought that they would be good subjects 
to begin on. So it was decided that military drill should 
be introduced into the college course coincidently with our 
arrival. The preliminaries to such an experience were 
rapidly passed over, uniforms of the West Point pattern 
were made by Bob Robertson, the tailor, and we were soon 
in the full gorgeousness of military embellishment. 

It was not so bad at first, marching around in military 
manoeuvres and handling the gun in the manual of arms. 
Moreover it was splendid exercise for the body, tending to 
make one erect and strong and of easy carriage. Our com- 
mandant was Major Joseph P. Sanger, U. S. A., an artillery 
officer, now in service in Cuba. He was a diminutive man 
physically, but mentally he was clear and strong and a finely 
equipped officer. The boys all liked him and he displayed 
great tact and kindness in his treatment of them. He 
carried himself splendidly, and when in full uniform one 
forgot that he was not a six-footer. 

283 



tale;s of bowdoin 

Pretty soon we became fairly proficient in the drill and 
took trips about the town. At one time we appeared at the 
agricultural fair at Topsham. A circular is now before the 
writer in relation to that event, for a controversy arose con- 
cerning it. Our artillerists fired a salute to Governor Per- 
ham from our twelve-pound battery. The rustic steeds, 
hitched, or standing free, about the trotting park, were not 
expecting such a sudden and deafening volume of sounds, 
and as soon as the first gun was fired there was a commotion 
observable in all portions of the grounds, a noticeable feat- 
ure of which was the desire of the aforesaid steeds to jump 
over the fence and make for home. After four guns were 
fired, the order to cease firing was given, owing to the 
evident disturbance in equine conditions. A controversy 
arose among the fair officials as to who was responsible 
for the order to fire a salute, and circulars and newspaper 
articles were published on both sides. It may be said, how- 
ever, that Major Sanger and the Bowdoin cadets came out 
of the affair with flying colors. 

Another incident of that day comes back to the writer. 
Major Sanger, being in full dress, wore his spurs. He had 
the companies formed in line marching across the parade 
ground in battalion front, and was himself marching back- 
ward in order to keep his eyes on the young warriors in the 
ranks. Unfortunately, however, one of the major's spurs 
stuck into a miniature eminence which had probably once 
been the birthplace of an humble potato, and as he did so 
he fell backward on the ground. His humiliation and the 
amusement of the cadets may easily be imagined. The 
smile on the faces of the boys was so loud that it is a 
wonder the horses were not frightened a second time. 

284 



RANDOM REICOLLECTIONS OF 187I-75 

Still another incident of our military life comes up in 
memory. Some of the artillerists went over to Topsham 
one Fall to fire a salute on the occasion of a certain impor- 
tant public event, and after the salute had been fired the 
firers were taken by a Topsham man of very hospitable 
nature to his house. They were of course very thirsty after 
their active work in firing minute g'uns, and the gentleman 
took them down into his wine cellar. It was a very impos- 
ing place, with its tiers of barrels and its various bottles 
and jugs. We were not there to ask questions and when 
our host drew out a tin dipperful of a red liquid from a 
barrel, h*^ handed it to one of the boys, undoubtedly expect- 
ing us all to slake our thirst out of that one dipperful. 
The first cadet, however, swallowed the whole dipperful, 
and our host was therefore obliged in courtesy to draw out 
an equal amount for each one. It all went with the same 
gusto, and no questions were asked as to its alcoholic poten- 
tiality. It was our first experience with the army canteen. 
Of course we had a very jolly time, and as we look back at 
it now, it seems to have been a very thoughtful act for our 
host to have his team sent around to carry us home. 

But the seeds of mutiny were sown when the students 
began to realize that the drill was obligatory. Human 
nature seems especially averse to doing that which it is 
under compulsion to do. The various general orders and 
accumulating restrictions presented upon the chapel bulle- 
tin-board fanned the flames of sedition until finally the 
students, in May, 1874. rebelled, refusing to report for duty. 
They were called individually before the Faculty and on 
persisting in their policy of disobedience were sent home. 
Their arrivals at the ancestral domicile were followed a few 
days later by a circular from President Chamberlain, giving 
a statement of the case from the Faculty's point of view. 

285 



TALES OF EOWDOIN 

Of course we were wrong, and we all went back and sub- 
mitted to the rules of the college, but the backbone of the 
drill was broken, and it died a speedy and unregretted death 
as a Bowdoin institution. 

We used to have some great gymnasium work in our 
day. Dudley A. Sargent, now at Harvard, had charge of 
the gymnastic work at Bowdoin, and a fine gymnast and 
athlete he was, too. Some of the public exhibitions given 
in those years at Brunswick, Portland and other places 
comprised really remarkable gymnastic feats. The double 
eschelle we considered a crowning act of muscular skill and 
daring. Sargent was a fine performer on the horizontal 
bar, and excelled in trapeze-balancing and other feats. 
Once, I remember, an entertainment of gymnastics con- 
tained a feature that was not anticipated by the performers. 
One number of the program was somersaults from a spring- 
board. The board would give the leaper additional energy 
and he would sail into the air, turn leisurely over and come 
down on his feet. That is : this is what he was expected 
to do. On this occasion, however, there was a departure 
from these lines. Either some one arranged the spring- 
bar wrong side up, or else the gymnasts had an attack of 
stage fright, for one after another leaped, but could not 
turn, and came down on the mattress flat on his back. The 
spectators enjoyed this fully as much as thev did the most 
startling features on the program. 

Although Brunswick is far removed from the centre of 
circles in which the aquatic spirit most strongly prevails, 
yet in those years she turned out some good crews and has 
since rendered a good account of herself on the water. 
There used to be an old patched shell that had seen better 

286 



RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 1871-75 

(lavs, and four of us landlubbers used to take it occasion- 
ally for a row down the river. There was nothing profes- 
sional about our stroke and we never took any prizes or 
medals for efficiency as oarsmen, but we had great times 
jusi the same. Each man had his own ideas as to about 
how rowing should be done, and as to about how often it 
was desirable to add to the stroke-precision by catching 
a crab. The necessity of frequent bailing was so great, 
owing to the leaky condition of the boat, that it was a 
question on the whole as to whether the boat went any 
faster horizontally than it settled vertically. It was a case 
of the pan being mightier than the oar. 

There is before the writer a little circular which is worded 
as follows : 

BowDOiN College, Oct. 18, '71. 
SiK :— I am happy to extend to you an invitation to become a member 
of the Peucinian Society. A. P. WISWELL. Secretary. 

Initiation will take place Thursday eve, Oct. 19th, 1871. 

The invitation is about all the writer remembers of that 
old society, which, once so useful to the student, had, even 
in our day, in company with its fellow societv the Athenean, 
begun to go into decay. The initiation was brief and not 
entirely unimpressive. The candidates then learned the 
true meaning of the term piiios loquentcs. Bro. Wiswell, 
the secretary, was assigned to the rear of the writer's chair, 
and he has always felt that the thinness of hair on the top 
of his cranium was due to the vigor with which the present 
Chief Justice of Maine caused the pine to speak for itself. 

A great many college pranks come to mind, but the neces- 
sarily restricted liniits of this article will permit mention 
of but few of them. 

287 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

There used to be a town liquor agency in Brunswick on 
the main street, not far from Billy Coffin's oyster-house. In 
front of the building was a large sign, placed well up over 
the door. The younger students had often cast longing 
eyes at that sign, and it was believed that it would be some- 
thing of an ornament to the college grounds if it could be 
confiscated. But the place was so public, and the police- 
man of that section seemed to devote so much of his time 
to that vicinity, that any designs on that sign seemed not 
to promise success. One night, however, things looked pro- 
pitious for the attempt. George S and Frank V , 

whom we called "Pete" for short, were in the party, and 
one or two others whose names I do not now recall. We 
placed barrels a,nd planks against the building and suc- 
ceeded in wrenching the sign loose and taking it down. 
Just then the alarm was given that some one was approach- 
ing. It was the cop, and haste v/as necessary. George 
grabbed the front end of the big sign and the rest of us 
arranged ourselves alongside at various points. The way 
that sign moved up-street, with the animated legs under- 
neath, must have suggested to a nocturnal observer the 
thought of a many-legged creature of the centipede variety. 
Pete, however, who was on principle opposed to active 
physical exercise, lagged behind and the policeman captured 
him. The sign was safely deposited under Appleton Hall, 
and on Pete's not showing up in due season we all proceeded 
back down town to see what the matter was. As we walked 
down the Mall the dejected form of Pete came in view 
through the darkness. Now Pete in his happiest moments 
had a solemn look on his countenance that ill-comported 
with his naturally jolly nature, and when he actually 
was dejected his countenance expressed absolute, awful, 
unspeakable wretchedness. We could almost feel the mis- 

288 



RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 1871-75 

ery emanate from his covmtenance as he drew near. "It's 
no use, boys," said he in sepulchral tones, "the jig is up. 
You've got to return that sign," It seems that the police- 
man decided to let Pete off on condition that he would 
agree that the sign should be returned. So to save Pete 
we had to take that long-desired sign back and place it 
again over the door, under the supervision of the officer, 
interspersing our efiforts with remarks uncomplimentary 
to police officers in general and the Brunswick police in 
particular. 

"Tute" Card, the hackman, was a familiar figure about 
town, and the students all knew him, some of them to their 
cost. Tute was a sly one. Occasionally he used to ask 
the boys to ride down town from the depot in his carriage, 
and would make no charge for it. This was deemed quite 
a favor. One day, however, he put up a job on some of 
the boys. He had a crony with him and the crony said to 
several of the students, "Don't you want to ride down to 
the post-office, boys?" Four or five of us boys, accepting 
the implied invitation, got into the carriage, but when we 
alighted at our destination, Tute coolly asked us to pay 
25 cents apiece, the regular rate. We demurred and said 
that we had been asked to ride. "I didn't ask you," said 
Tute, "and this fellow here who did ask vou isn't running 
this hack, so you'll have to fork over." It was perfectly 
evident that it was a swindUng job put up by the two, but 
we paid ; that is, we paid by proxy, for Al Whit, was the 
only fellow in the party that had any money, and he settled 
the bill for the crowd. So Al was in a position to fully 
appreciate the little game. 

The writer's chum the first year was Bill H , one 

of the best-hearted and jolliest-natured fellows that ever 
R 2S9 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

lived. We used to call him "Mystery," as he seemed to 
have "up his sleeve" such a great variety of information on 
subjects that the general college public was not thoroughly 
conversant with. Bill could give a more significant nod 
than any man the world has known, and his wink conveyed 
volumes and volumes of suggestion. We all felt that if 
Bill would tell all he knew about things, the world's store 
of thought and information would be greatly enriched. 

If there was one thing that Bill loved it was a practical 
joke, and he could think up more kinds of iokes and more 
opportunities for perpetrating them than any man in col- 
lege. One day he planned one on the occupants of the 

room overhead — McQ and S . We had to let Mac 

into the secret. One evening Bill got into their room and 
tied a rope to the leg of the bed nearest the wall and win- 
dow. He passed this rope back of the commode and out 
of the window, the other end being carried into our room. 

In the late hours of the night, when S was asleep and 

snoring, we gave a strong, steady pull on the end of the 
rope. There was an overturning of furniture and a crashing 
of crockery, and a bed was heard to roll across the floor. 
There ensued a period of distress and confusion upstairs, 

pretended on the part of Mac, but real on the part of S . 

It was some time before S discovered the cause of the 

agitation of the furniture, and we could hear him grunt 
with surprise when he finally came across t)ie rope. 

One of Bill's possessions which he brought from home 
was a large red pincushion, plumply stuffed on top. One 
would think to look at it that it was a light and airy affair 
that would almost sail into space of its own volition, but 
in reality it was a very substantial article, for its founda- 
tion was a hard-burned brick, and about the heaviest brick 

290 



RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OF 1 87 1 -75 

ever made. Il would weigh something, but not much, less 

than a ton. One day Frank U and other boys were 

passing ball and loafing on the campus. Looking up and 
seeing Bill leaning out of our window, Frank said, "Throw 
down something for us to catch." "Catch this !" said Bill, 
tossing out the red pincushion. It sailed through the air 
down three stories in a most etherial manner. Frank held 
up his hands in a lightsome way to catch the feathery; 
object, but when it struck his hands his look of lazy interest 
changed into one of startled surprise, for the cushion 
banged through his hands and half-buried itself in the turf. 
It was a long time before Frank could recover from a sense 
of the narrowness of his escape. 

One day in the fall a trip to Goose Island was taken by 
some of us lx)ys, sailing from Maquoit in a leaky and 
weatherbeaten old craft which met a squall soon after start- 
ing. Under the expert care of Mont Aldous, a student in 
the scientific department, we reached our destination safely. 
Such expeditions usually go equipped with everything 
except water, and ours was no exception to the rule. A 
hunt over the island in the gathering darkness failed to 
reveal a spring, and so at a late hour our thirst compelled 
us to row across the bay to Harpswell in the small and 
leaky boat's-tender, five or six of us, and there we went up 
to a farm well and drank delicious draughts of water, 
enough to last us during the remainder of our visit in that 
locality. It was late and we concluded not to row back 
that night, the water being very rough, and so we all laid 
down under the lee of a stone wall on the wet grass and 
slept sweetly, as tired youth knows how to sleep, in the 
cool air of the October night. Strange to relate ! there was 
never a cold or a sneeze that resulted from this experience. 

291 



TAIvES OF BOWDOIN 

In the neighboring town of Topsham there was a tax- 
collector who was a more amiable and agreeable man than 
tax-collectors in general are supposed to be. No student 
had any opportunity to have a grievance against him, but 
grievances are not necessary in order to stimulate the youth- 
ful mind to acts of deviltry. One day this tax-collector was 
quietly walking by on the sidewalk of the Harpswell road 
when an insinuating voice from somewhere in Winthrop 
Hall said most pleasantly : "Will you be so kind as to step 

over here, Mr. P ? I want to talk with you." And 

Mr. P came over, like the accommodating man he 

was, to hear whatever the person of honeyed words had to 
say. On arriving at the hall entrance, however, his ears 
were assailed with most outrageously abusive language, to 
his great surprise and indignation. He started to come in 
and discover the perpetrator of the outrage, but his dis- 
cretion prevailed and he nursed his wrath and went away 
in a towering rage. 

Many other incidents come back to the writer in mem- 
ory — the handcar expedition after turkeys; the purloining 
of a yellow flag that was placed in front of a house down- 
town to indicate smallpox; the visits and lectures of the 
late Daniel Pratt, always a source of interest to the stu- 
dents; the beautiful playing of a strolling violinist who 
made regular trips to Brunswick, and whose little finger 
of the right hand was always encased in a soiled rag, though 
he did not play in "rag-time." The writer recalls, too, the 
pleasant experiences in the class-room; the games and 
sports on the Delta when baseball and football were not 
played as they are today. The delightful strolls into the 
surrounding country come back to him, and he lives over 
again the hours of social enjoyment, the communing of 

292 



RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS OE 1 87 1 -75 

souls in boyish confidences, the building^ of air-castles, and 
the dreaming of bright visions of the future. But these 
recollections, delightful as they are to the writer, can offer 
in their recounting but little of interest save to those who 
were a part of them in the student life of a quarter-century 
ago. 



JOHN FERRIS, GRADUATE 

Edgar O. Achorn. '8i 



JOHN rERRIS, Gi^ADUATE 

JOHN Ferris stood alone in front of Memorial Hall, 
wrapped in meditation. It was near the close of one 
of June's fairest days. The Class Day exercises were over ; 
the graduating class had smoked the pipe of peace, cheered 
the halls, and disbanded ; but knots of people were still 
loitering about as if reluctant to leave a spot of such match- 
less beauty. 

In a vague way John Ferris was conscious of the perfect 
symmetry of the Art Building and Chapel as they came 
within the range of his vision. He heard, but faintly, the 
voices around him, the joyous laughter, and the words of 
the familiar song wafted from the windows of Maine Hall : 

"We'll hail from the walls of old Bowdoin, 
Those walls so jolly with fame." 

It was twenty years since his class had celebrated its 
Commencement and bid farewell to college life, and now 
those twenty years rose in a vision before him. 

"O ye familiar scenes,— ye groves of pine 
That once were mine and are no longer mine,— 
Ye halls, in whose seclusion and repose 
Phantoms of fame like exhalations rose 
And vanished," 

he quoted half aloud. Twenty years! He was no longer 
young; his youth — his bright youth — had gone forever. 
Phantoms of fame! Where were the ambitions of those 
early days now? Thwarted, abandoned, dead. Some he 

297 



TALES OF BOVVDOIN 

had buried years before; the long grass and weeds had 
grown over their mounds, and their epitaphs were dim and 
indistinct. But others there were — his greater ambitions — 
marked by fresh mounds and freshly cut headstones. These 
had died hard, and when at times, as now, a flood of memo- 
ries came back to him, their recollection gave him the 
keenest pain. 

"A penny for your thoughts." John Ferris roused him- 
self, turned, and recognized his old friend. Grace Pennell, 
approaching, with her hand extended in greeting. "We 
have been watching you for the last five minutes. Come, 
explain yourself; why this melancholy in the midst of so 
much festivity? Let me present you to Miss Overton of 
Knoxville — she is with me for Commencement." While 
Mrs. Pennell was speaking, John turned from shaking hands 
with her to acknowledge the introduction to Miss Overton. 
He was met by a pair of serious brown eves that looked 
squarely into his own. The uplifted face was beautiful in 
outline, denoting at once intellectuality, pride, and tender- 
ness. The rippling brown hair, the well poised head, the 
graceful figure, all appealed and with irresistible force to 
his sense of the beautiful in woman. To John Ferris it 
was a new sensation; in all these years of struggle and 
endeavor since his college days it had never seemed to him 
that there was any place for woman. He had never given 
her much thought, and so far as he had it was to regard 
her as a fellow pilgrim, — one quite apart from his own 
plans and purposes. And now, as he looked into this 
woman's face, he felt an indefinable sensation of pleasure, 
of anticipation, of confidence, and of mutual sympathy. "I 
must confess that you surprised me when I was feeling just 
a trifle disconsolate, but your coming has quite driven it 
away," he said, at length replying to Mrs. Pennell, but 

298 



JOHN FERRIS, GRADUATE 

with his eyes still fastened upon her friend. "But how 
can you be sad in such an enchanted spot?" exclaimed Miss 
Overton. "Why, I'm in love with old Bowdoin — to me, 
a Southerner, this campus is ideal." 

"That is rather a difficult question to answer, Miss Over- 
ton, in a word. I am a loyal son of Bowdoin — none more 
so — and I am alive to the festivity of the occasion, — the 
beauty of the surroundings, — I too appreciate it ; but under- 
lying all to me, when I stop to reflect, there is a very sad 
side to this coming back to Commencement. Nowhere else 
does one stand so face to face with his past life, with his 
failures ; nowhere are comparisons so odious ; nowhere does 
It come home to one with equal force that his life is slipping 
away and that he has accomplished nothing. With you in 
the South, everything dates from the war — with us, from 
our college days. It is twenty years since I graduated, 
and I have nothing to show for it. It mav seem strange 
to you, but I had just reached the determination not to 
return here again for another twenty vears." He spoke 
earnestly and with a tinge of bitterness. 

"Ah, but you enjoy meeting the men of your time, 
John, — I should say, of our time — " said Mrs. Pennell, "or 
else you are very much changed since I knew you as a 
student, for we of the town used to hear startling rumors 
of your genial habits." 

"Yes, to be sure I shall dearly love to meet the old crowd 
again, and after a few sips of the historic punch I presume 
I shall be quite like my old self; but thus far I haven't hap- 
pened to meet one of my class. It is a little early in the 
week ; doubtless they will be here in force to-morrow." 

At that moment Mrs. Pennell, excusing herself, responded 
to a call from a carriage near, and the two were left alone. 
'Do you think that all college men feel as you do, Mr. 

299 



TAI<ES 0I-* BOWDOIN 

Ferris, about coming back?" asked Miss Overton. "The 
majority do not, I fancy. Such as do would be found among 
the number of those who, Hke myself, have won no great 
victories in the world's arena. Those who have written their 
names high on the scroll of fame, doubtless return with a 
sense of exhilaration and triumph, bringing their shields. 
They have the satisfaction of knowing that their success 
gives an added lustre to the fame of Bowdoin. Do you see 
the four men sitting together under the Thorndike Oak? 
They are Chief Justice Fuller, Tom Reed, General Howard 
and Senator Frye. These are the men who must return 
with satisfaction to themselves; but we poor unfortunates 
who are given over to the petty drudgery of life, who have 
failed in the running and know it, — what do you think our 
sensations are when we come up to this judgment seat?" 

"Ah, but, Mr. Ferris, surely you do not regard those 
lives alone as successful that have had to do with great 
affairs — that have brought public distinction. It is enough, 
is it not, that each one act well his part, there, as Pope has 
well said, all the honor lies." 

"It is a very pretty theory. Miss Overton, and man is so 
constituted that no matter what cards he may draw in the 
game of life, he almost never throws down his hand; he 
plays it out, even if he doesn't take a trick ; but I contend 
that a commonplace existence is 'one demd horrid grind.' " 

"I do not agree with )'^ou. Greater heroism is required 
to live faithful to the small things of life than to the great, 
or, to use your own simile, to play a poor hand well than one 
full of trumps, and I for one most admire the man endowed 
with qualities that make it possible for him to live happily 
in modest circumstances — the man who dignifies the every- 
day affairs of life. We are not responsible for being here, 
and if we do our best in our respective places we should 

300 



JOHN FERRIS, GRADUATE 

have no regrets. We cannot all be great — let us at least 
try to be happy, which is of more importance. Isn't that 
after all the true philosophy?" 

Miss Overton spoke with earnestness and with a measure 
of sympathy in her voice and manner which moved John 
Ferris deeply. He was unhappy, forlorn, dissatisfied with 
himself, and her words comforted him. He was eager to 
continue the conversation, but his next word was cut short 
by Mrs. Pennell, who, returning, apologized for the neces- 
sity of their speedy departure. 

"But surely, Grace, I shall see Miss Overton again," said 
Ferris, loth to have her leave him. "I should esteem it a 
great privilege to be able to contribute something to the 
pleasure of her visit to Brunswick." 

"We are at home to our friends at almost all hours Com- 
mencement week, as you know," replied Mrs. Pennell, "and 
I gladly accept you as an ally in making Miss Overton's 
stay with me a success." 

Standing in the same spot, John Ferris watched Nancy 
Overton as long as she was in sight, and then he fell into 
a brown study again. How womanly and sincere she 
seemed — what an atmosphere of gladness surrounded her — 
what depths of feeling stirred in her brown eyes. She had 
given life a new meaning. It made him ashamed of his 
own mood. He must see more of her — he must do some- 
thing to redeem himself. 

And he did, for that evening as they sat on Mrs. Pen- 
nell's veranda, under the inspiration of Miss Overton's 
presence he recounted tales and incidents of his college days 
with such inimitable wit and pathos that the whole com- 
pany was alternately moved from laughter to tears. 

The following day he took her on that beautiful drive 
across the Brunswick plains to the sea — and Nancy Over- 

301 



TAI^ES OF BOWDOIN 

ton with a woman's intuition came to realize that the 
man at her side, although bruised and hurt by some of the 
bitter experiences and disappointments of life, still had that 
fine sense of honor, that keen sense of justice, and that 
love of the good, the true and the beautiful which charac- 
terize a thoroughbred gentleman. 

It was the night of the President's reception. John 
Ferris, dressed with more than ordinary care and with a 
boyish eagerness quite foreign to him, betook himself to 
Memorial Hall. While he stopped to exchange a word of 
greeting with those he knew in the throng that soon filled 
the place, his eyes constantly sought the entrance ; he grew 
more and more impatient as the evening wore away and 
Mrs. Pennell and her friend failed to make their appear- 
ance. When all hope was at an end, he left the hall with 
a keen sense of disappointment. Lighting a cigar, he 
strolled across the campus, down the Longfellow path, and 
seated himself under the spreading pines. The full moon 
sailed in a cloudless sky, bathing each blade and leaf in a 
flood of silvery light. The pine boughs over head moved 
by the evening breeze mingled their music with the myriad 
voices of the night. 

The mysterious spell of the place and hour gradually stole 
over him, — old things passed away, and John Ferris came 
into his birthright at last, for the "whispering pines of old 
Bowdoin" sang unto his very soul in passion's tenderest 
cadence the priceless heritage of a pure and unselfish love. 

At his room a telegram awaited him. demanding his 
immediate return to Boston, and boarding the "Flying 
Yankee" he v/as gone. 

During the next month John Ferris sought to apply him- 
self with his usual diligence to the multifarious duties of 
his law practice, but wnth indifferent success. An ungov- 

302 



JOHN FERRIS, GRADUATE 

ernable restlessness seized him, and in the midst of his 
work his mmd repeatedly wandered back to the Bowdoin 
campus and the woman he had met there. He found him- 
self reviewing every detail of her appearance, recalling 
every varying phase of her expressive face. He longed to 
see her again, to hear her voice, to feel the influence of her 
presence. Unable to settle down to business, he packed 
his bag and took passage for Europe, reflecting that a rest 
and a change might restore his equilibrium. 

On August 30th, John Ferris registered at the Beau 
Rivage, Geneva. He had come down from Ober-Ammer- 
gau and was journeying by easy stages toward Paris. It 
was his birthday. An intense feeling of loneliness came 
over him as he sat at dinner on the balconv of the hotel 
and watched the changing hues of the sunset play upon the 
snowy summit of JNit. Blanc. His outing had in no wise 
effaced Nancy Overton from his thoughts. In fancy she 
filled the vacant chair opposite and^ he realized that his 
happiness would be complete were she there to share the 
beauty of the scene with him, when a voice that thrilled 
every fibre of his being said, "How beautiful." He sprang 
to his feet and faced about. Nancy Overton in company 
wnth Mrs. Pennell was just seating herself at the adjoining 
table. Their eyes met, and in her answering glance John 
Ferris read a glad response to all the overmastering emotion 
that found expression in his face and manner. 

When Mrs. Permell left them together two hours later, 
she said, "'Now I will give you tv/o an opportuntiy to finish 
the conversation I. interrupted last June on the Bowdoin 
campus." They finished it, and John Ferris convinced 
Nancy Overton that if he might work for love of her 
nothing in life would ever seem to him commonplace again. 

303 



DIOGENES 

Henry L. Chapman, '66 



DIOGENES 

NOT the philosopher of the tub ! Far from it, indeed ! 
It is possible that some quibbling persons might 
question whether the Diogenes of whom I write could fairly 
be called a philosopher at all. There is, however, a con- 
venient vagueness about the term which admits of its being 
applied to him in common with a varied and picturesque 
procession of personages from Plato down to Mr. Dooley. 
It is certain, moreover, that he had a touch of the cynic 
in his disposition ; and there was a quaintness in his man- 
ner, coupled with a mystery touching^ his birth and previous 
condition, which might be regarded as incidental but happy 
additions to his outfit as a philosopher. So much will have 
to be granted. But it is impossible to locate him in a tub. 
He would doubtless have been a more engaging figure if 
that could have been done, at least occasionally. But he 
had to be taken as he was, just as we all have to be taken 
as we are. And, so taken, he is, in some respects, pleasanter 
as a reminiscence than he was as a contemporary. 

It was in August, 1840, that this new visitant swam into 
the ken of Bowdoin students. The heated term was draw- 
ing near the end — and the Commencement, also. The 
breathing-space of four weeks, during which, in the good 
old times, the Seniors were excused from other duties in 
order that they might put their varied learning into intelli- 
gible shape for the Commencement platform, was passing, 
slowly and languorously. Ezra Abbott, the critical linguist, 

307 



TAI,ES OF BOWDOIN 

and Elijah Kellogg, the wit and genius, with "full nyne and 
twenty" classmates — a number which will always retain the 
distinction which Chaucer gave it when he thus summed 
up the company of pilgrims at the Tabard Inn — these were 
the dignified Seniors who, doubtless, like Chaucer's Ser- 
geant of Law, seemed busier than they were. There was 
no question of "seeming," however, with Juniors and 
Sophomores and Freshmen; they had still "to grunt and 
sweat under a weary life," since the recitations in Greek, 
Latin and Mathematics rolled on as pitilessly as the burn- 
ing August sun. 

Upon the scholastic scene, thus modestly set m the Bow- 
doin campus, entered a small, shrewd, smoothly-shaven and 
sedate stranger, who was destined to remain upon the scene, 
an interesting and unique figure, for more than a quarter 
of a century. He came unheralded, but not unattended. 
A colored man was his companion, who, by virtue of his 
hue and his evident dependence, might have passed for his 
shadow if the two had not soon parted company. 

The ostensible errand of the new arrival was to exhibit 
some petty mechanical contrivance or puppet-show, and to 
pick up some small coins by wa}^ of return for the enter- 
tainment offered. He had reason, or, at least, courage, to 
hope that the young men of the college were so far imbued 
with the Baconian spirit that they did not seek in knowledge 
merely "a terrace for a wandering and variable mind to 
walk up and down with a fair prospect," but "a rich store- 
house for the relief of man's estate." How far his hopes 
were realized, and his own estate relieved, cannot now be 
affirmed; nor does it matter. More important issues hung 
upon his casual introduction to the college. Either some 
delicate perception of the students' needs, (as he saw them 
gathered about his trifling show), or some open promise of 

308 



DIOGENES 

patronage on their part — or perhaps both — moved him to 
abandon his strolling and precarious life, and shortly to 
establish himself in a small shop on Maine Street, on which 
a rudely-printed sign announced that clothes were promptly 
mended and cleansed within. 

His years of wandering over, here, at length, he was 
installed in a domicile of his own, and busied, like another 
Teufelsdrockh, with the Philosophy of Clothes. His 
patrons were chiefly, but not exclusively, from the college, 
and so assiduous was he in the mending and cleansing of 
their garments that he became unwisely forgetful of his 
own. 

It was not long before his philosophical meditations and 
his mending and cleansing processes were interrupted, when 
a right of way through the village was demanded by the 
Portland and Kennebec Railroad, and the spot upon which 
his little shop stood had to be vacated. But it was not 
much more of a structure to move than a tub would have 
been ; and, with all his belongings in it undisturbed, it was 
hauled to a more secluded spot chosen bv himself, and 
continued to be his residence and workshoo so long as he 
needed either. As the only window to his house was a sky- 
light he had an equally good outlook wherever the house 
chanced to be located, and an outlook, it may be added, 
peculiarly congenial to the mind of a philosopher. 

He was already on the shady sign of middle life, with 
a considerable knowledge of books and a strong liking for 
them, a half-cynical fondness for human society, an undis- 
guised appetite for stimulants, and a general personal 
atmosphere which did not promise much for the clothes 
which he professed to cleanse. Gradually he allowed him- 
self to be drawn from his seclusion to perform various 
menial duties about the college buildings, partly for the 

309 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

students, and partly for the Corporation. For twenty-five 
years, at least, he was familiar to the Bowdoin campus, and 
must be a tolerably distinct figure in the memories of the 
students of those years. A short, grave, sturdy little man — 
in rusty ill-fitting clothes, wearing always a silk hat, which, 
like himself, more than hinted of decay and decrepitude — he 
was to be seen at almost any hour going in and out of the 
college halls, or studying the newspapers in the reading- 
room through a magnifying-glass set in a rude unpainted 
frame, square and substantial. But he was to be seen at 
his weirdest and best in the dim twilight before the dawn, 
going from hall to hall with a burning candle, or, if it was 
windy, with a lantern — which perhaps gave him his name 
of Diogenes — to light the fires in the rooms of a few 
Sybaritic students, and in the recitation rooms, which must 
be warm fcr the early recitation before breakfast. 

For this latter service he was employed by the college 
authorities, and hence arose the necessity for an annual 
house-cleaning, so to speak, of his person. Once in the 
year, with considerable pains and awkwardness doubtless, 
but with conscientious regularity, he went through the 
ordeal of a toilet, and adorned himself with such niceties of 
dress as he could command, and brought forth a less dilapi- 
dated hat than he was wont to wear — and. thus arrayed, he 
proce::^ded with unaffected dignity to call upon President 
Woods, to receive from him an order upon the college treas- 
urer for his modest stipend. Any student that chanced to 
meet him on one of those annual official errands deemed 
himself fortunate, as indeed he was. He would get scant 
recognition, to be sure, and very likely none at all, from 
the little philosopher — who regarded the students as belong- 
ing wholly to his work-a-day world — but he would see the 
shuffling menial transformed, for the moment, into a self- 

310 



DIOGENES 

respecting gentleman who had relations with the President 
of the college ; and the picture was one that would not fade 
from the memory. It might be that his pathway to the 
President's house was illumined by the recollection of more 
prosperous days in his earlier life, and, therefore, until his 
errand was done, he chose not to notice the young fellows 
of the college, who were associated altogether with the ser- 
vile condition into which he had fallen. 

There is reason to believe that he was a native of the 
Island of Guernsey, and that he passed some years in 
France, where he learned the trade of a glove-maker. 
From France he wandered to Nova Scotia, and from Nova 
Scotia to the United States, and to Brunswick. There is 
little doubt that he was brought up in the Catholic faith, 
and among the students it was a favorite hypothesis, which 
came to be accepted by them as fact, that he had been 
educated, or partially educated, for the priesthood. Subse- 
quently, however, he became an Episcopalian, and, though 
he rarely attended upon the services of the church, he 
remained to the end a stout intellectual adherent of St, Paul. 
That his life might not be lacking in the element of romance 
it was believed that in his youth he was "jilted" in favor of 
his brother. It was not, in itself, an unreasonable con- 
jecture, and, perhaps, the only thing needed to make it 
entirely credible, was some knowledge of his brother. Be 
that as it may, the story would help to account for the fact 
that he was, after a mild fashion, a misogynist, and that he 
drank to excess. 

Whether these items of personal history that I have men- 
tioned are true or not, they did not come to us from his 
own lips. He was, in a marked degree, reticent and uncom- 
municative. Proof against persuasion, and incapable of 
surprise, he never satisfied our curiosity with any confidences 

.311 



TALIvS 0:F BOWDOIN 

concerning his earlier life. Though we met him not once but 
daily, he yet seemed to us to be wrapped in a mystery not 
unlike that of Melchizedek, King of Salem. The more 
sensitive of the students, I think, respected his reticence, 
but not all ; and it was surely fine to see the silent contempt 
with which he repelled the boisterous, and sometimes vulgar, 
familiarities to which he was now and then exposed. But 
he had his favorites and his failings, and unfortunately, as 
is sometimes the case with better men than he, it was to his 
favorites that he was apt to display his failings. To them 
he would so far unbend as to quote scraps of unalluring 
verse, often with emendations of his own, and repeat a few 
haggard and time-worn jokes, and sit overlong by their 
open fires. His sense of humor was of a pinched and 
primitive order, and it sometimes found vent in utterances 
that were not altogether fit for refined ears, though this was 
not of frequent occurrence. His laugh was an odd vibra- 
tion of mirth, suggesting a sort of compromise between a 
chuckle and a hiss, and it struggled forth as best it could 
from between his tongue and his upper teeth, which seemed 
to come together in order to help or to hinder the demon- 
stration, and one could hardly tell which. As a laugh, 
therefore, it was interesting, but not infectious. 

The picture of him rises before me now. as he used to 
sit at times before my own wide Franklin stove, in which, 
through one luxurious winter, I employed him to light the 
morning fires. His poor, frayed, threadbare coat is but- 
toned close to his chin ; his trousers conceal a part of their 
poverty, being tucked into capacious rubber boots ; and his 
unspeakable hat is pulled down upon his ears, — for, like the 
English House of Commons, it was his custom to sit with his 
hat on. The expression of his face is shrewd and not 
unpleasing ; his talk has in it a distinct touch of the gentle- 

312 



DIOGENES 

man, and he passes from speech to silence (and, perhaps, 
even to sleep), as naturally and gently as a child. He has 
a word or two, very likely, of college gossip ; he says some- 
thing of religion, buttressing his remarks, probably, with 
a saying of St. Paul's ; he speaks for a few moments of 
books ; and after a short silence a sort of twinkle comes into 
his eyes, and he recites, with an unmistakable relish, two 
stanzas from Southey's "Devil's Walk": 

"From his brimstone bed at break of day, 

A-wallcing tlie Devil is gone, 
To look at his snug little farm of the world, 
And see how his stock went on. 

"How then was the Devil dressed? 
Oh ! he was in his Sunday's best : 
His coat was red, and his breeches were blue, 
And there was a hole where the tail came through." 

Something in this poetic portrait has a persistent charm 
for him, and it is a favorite quotation ; and now, having 
repeated it to me, he gives one of his little dubious, Jesuit- 
ical laughs, and gets up and shambles out. 

He was a diligent reader, with some claims — making 
due allowance for the narrow limits of his leisure — to the 
title of bookworm. In the dingy and cheerless hovel which 
served as his domicile — and which may still be seen in the 
rear of the Brunswick House on Maine Street — he had 
gathered a library of several hundred volumes, packed away 
in boxes which occupied the center of the floor, directly 
under the skylight, which, as I have said, alone furnished 
light to the apartment when the door was shut. Incon- 
venient as were his library accommodations, so familiar was 
he with his treasures that he was rarely at a moment's loss 
to know in which of the half-score of boxes any particular 
volume was to be found. He was reported to make addi- 
tions to his library through a system of "forced benevo- 

313 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

lences," of which the successive Freshman classes were the 
victims. The benevolences were an undoubted fact, but 
whether the money was always expended for books was 
not so certain. In the later years of his life his necessities 
forced him to dispose of some of his treasured books, and, 
more than once, the present writer was persuaded to act as 
auctioneer for the sale of them, the auction beings invariably 
held in the open space between the Chapel and Maine Hall ; 
and the sufficient commission to the auctioneer was the sin- 
cere but scantily-worded gratitude of the shabby philos- 
opher. 

He was probably somewhat more than ninety years old 
at his death, which occurred on the thirtieth of April, 1868. 
The funeral service was conducted by President Harris, 
and he was buried, in conformity with his expressed wish, 
in the town of Weld, because that was the burial place of 
the family of his landlady who had always been kind to 
him, and in whose house he died. 

When, at last, he had left the solitude of his poor hut for 
the scarcely deeper solitude of the grave, it was impossible 
by inquiry or advertisement, to find any kinsfolk to inherit 
his meagre belongings ; and, after two or three years of 
fruitless effort, his administrator transferred his books to 
the college library, where they are still to be found bearing 
the label, "From the Library of Thomas A. Curtis." The 
law and the library knew him only as Thomas A. Curtis, 
but his contemporaries among the students remember him 
more familiarlv and kindlv as "Diogenes." 



THE RIVAL FULLBACKS 

Henry A. Wing, '8o 



THE RIVAL rULLBACKS 

IT was Bowdoin's last and most important football game 
of the season. Whittier Field had never held a crowd 
so large or so enthusiastic. The contest had excited the 
keenest interest, and had been heralded in the newspapers 
for weeks previous. And now men and women, staid pro- 
fessors and undergrads not quite so staid, had gathered to 
witness the struggle which should decide the championship 
of the State. The grandstand was a mass of waving flags 
and fluttering ribbons ; the sidelines were crowded, and all 
available space about the grounds was occupied by cheering, 
excited spectators. 

For thirty minutes the teams had been struggling in the 
fiercest contest ever waged on a gridiron in Maine. Bow- 
doin clearly had the advantage, yet was unsuccessful in 
making a goal. Three times had the sturdy home team 
worked the ball to the twenty-yard line of their opponents ; 
three times had Hal Blackford, who was playing fullback^ 
attempted place kicks, with the ball held by the quarterback, 
and failed. Then fickle fortune had changed, and the ball 
was sent into Bowdoin territory, out of danger. 

"In Heaven's name, where is Phil Edson?" muttered the 
captain to himself ; and in many minds the same query was 
uppermost. Phil, the most skilful goal kicker in the State ; 
Phil, the pride and safety of the team ; who had practiced 
with them, won with them, and sworn by them all his col- 
lege years, the popular man of the college, who had been 

317 



TALES OJ? BOWDOIN 

depended upon to win the game if it should be a close one, 
by a place kick. That morning he was in the captain's 
room, full of vigor and eager for the fray; now no one 
could venture a guess as to where he was. or what had 
occasioned his absence. At the last minute Hal Blackford 
had been substituted, and bewilderment was followed by 
a vague uneasiness when this change was made apparent 
to the spectators. 

A fourth time Bowdoin gained the twenty-yard line of 
the opposing team. The spectators were wild with excite- 
ment. The sharp "Rah ! rah ! rah !" of Bowdoin was heard 
high above the slogan of the enemy. A minute was left 
for play; the signal was given for another attempt to kick. 
The long pass to the quarter was not accurately made ; the 
opposing team broke through the Bowdoin line ; there was 
a sharp mix-up, and when it was over Hal was taken from 
the bottom of the heap bruised, insensible, and carried from 
the field seriously if not fatally injured, as the physician 
after a hasty examination gravely pronounced. 

Time for the first half was called and the Bowdoin players 
clustered together, despondent and almost without hope. 
Coaches and captain consulted mechanically, knowing that 
alm.ost certain defeat would follow the only course now open 
to them. Another substitute must be put into the game. 

The hopes of the opposing team had correspondingly 
risen. They had two reliable men to put into their line, 
and they were cognizant of Bowdoin's weakness with her 
best fullback absent, her best substitute disabled, her cour- 
age severely strained. With the indomitable spirit which 
has helped win many a victory for Bowdoin on field and 
on water, her eleven now awaited the call which might mar- 
shal them to defeat. The sky had clouded ; the depressing 
chill of winter was in the air, and as the sun sank fast in 

318 



THE RIVAI, FULLBACKS 

the November sky, the sighing of the winds through the 
pines seemed to the Bowdoin sympathizers preliminary 
tunings of the dirge of disaster waiting the champions of 
the white. 

A thrill of excitement rising to an hysterical outburst ; a 
cry. swelling and bursting into a tremendous volume of 
sound, rocks the grandstand, echoes through the pines, and 
"E-D-S-O-N ! Rah ! Rah ! Rah !" rises and falls upon the 
air, from hundreds of throats, the college team frantic with 
glee leading the chorus. From somewhere, no one knows 
exactly where, a tall, athletic youth has sprinted into view, 
and the regular fullback of the team, the most skilful player 
in the State, is tearing up the path. 

"This is no time for explanation," was Phil's hurried 
word in answer to the confused queries which greeted him. 
"Give me a suit of football clothes, and mighty quick, too." 
At the call of the whistle, Bowdoin faced her opponents 
with new courage. 

Never before nor since has there been such an exhibition 
of football upon Whittier Field. At the beginning of the 
half the opposing team attempted one or two trick 
plays, but on these they lost ground. From that time 
on there was straight, old-fashioned football. Bowdoin 
had advanced the ball from the beginning of the half, but 
it had been lost on fumbles and kicked back to the center 
of the field. The visitors fought like fiends to prevent 
Bowdoin from getting the ball into position to try for a goal 
from the field, or a kick from placement. 
. Twenty minutes had been played, when the superior 
muscle, training and grit of Bowdoin began to tell. Slowly 
the ball was worked toward the goal of the enemy. They 
had persisted in keeping the ball from the center of the field, 
making an attempted goal as difficult as it well could be. 

319 



TAI.CS OF BOWDOIN 

Three minutes were left for play, and the ball was held on 
the twenty-five yard line. A desperate chance only could 
accomplish the coveted score, for the teams were near the 
sideline at the left of the field. 

The signal was given ; the ball was accurately passed to 
the quarterback, who as quickly placed it on the ground 
and Phil sent the sphere whirling through space. Its 
progress was watched with breathless interest by the specta- 
tors, who for the moment had no further care for the two 
teams, though Bowdoin's stonewall line had been broken, 
just as the pigskin rose into the air. The wind apparently 
carries the ball away from the goalpost ; it wavers a bit, and 
the big audience as one man catches its breath; but on it 
sails, swift and sure. 

"GOAL!" shouted the official. 

Time was up, and Bowdoin had won, 5 to o. 

A mighty cheer shatters the silence of the preceding 
moment ; the psean of old "Phi Chi" arises irregularly upon 
the air; the undergrads break through the lines, and Phil 
is hoisted upon their shoulders and borne in triumph from 
the field. There is a scene of rejoicing which lasts many 
minutes, a "Bowdoin war dance," as one of the defeated 
disgustedly dubs it, and the happy company troops from the 
field through the softly falling snow, "the white of a Bow- 
doin victory." 



"Kid" Barker had deposited to the best advantage his 
^25 pounds of avoirdupois on the captain's couch ; "Giant" 
Gray, the featherweight of the college, had taken up his 
customary position before the fire; two or three others o.f 
the captain's particular set were variously disposed about 

320 



THE RIVAL FULLBACKS 

the room, which was blue with smoke and cheerful from 
the blaze of the open fire in the little Franklin stove, and all 
were rehearsing the exciting events of the afternoon, when 
Phil walked in on his way to inquire for his friend Hal. 

"Speak up, and give an account of yourself, old man," 
greeted him before he was fairly through the door. 

'"Give an account, and take an account as well," he replied. 
"What the dickens is to pay round this college, anyhow? 
About eleven o'clock this morning I went down town to 
mail a letter, and as I was passing the station a small boy 
stepped up and handed me a telegram signed by Mr. 
Forster, father's confidential clerk, saying 'Come at once; 
your father is just alive.' The train was just pulling out, 
and I barely swung on to the rear platform. I did not see 
a soul with whom I could leave any word, and I decided 
to telegraph when I reached Portland. You can guess how 
I felt when the first man who met my eyes in that station 
was Mr. Forster. I rushed up to him and asked for Father. 
'Your father sick?' he said. 'I left him in Boston last night, 
never better in his life, and have just received a dispatch 
from him saying he was going to New York this afternoon. 
There must be some mistake.' I showed him the telegram 
I possessed, and he said at once it was a forgery. It flashed 
upon me in a minute that some one had put up this job to 
get me out of the game for today. I told Mr. Forster of 
my suspicions, and he was all interest at once. Our first 
thought was a special engine, and as Forster knew the 
general superintendent well, he made for his office, to get 
one for love or money, while I made for the restaurant, 
knowing I should need a good meal more than anything 
else just then. 

"We hadn't got very far out of the city before I knew 
what it meant to skim along through the air ; I never shall 
T '321 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

envy an engineer his work after this ; I felt pretty easy in 
my mind, and v/as settled back thinking things over pretty 
hard, when smash, crash ; and there we were in Freeport 
yard, with a broken driving rod. If it hadn't been for the 
fact that we were running slow on to a siding for the 
express to pass us, I might have been worse off, I suppose. 
Well, thought I, the game is up this time, anvhow. And so 
was my fighting blood. 

"My eye fell upon a livery stable ; and I made one more 
try for Brunswick. The proprietor heard my tale of woe. 
'This little mare here,' said he, pointing to a dandy bay in 
her box stall, 'can take you to Brunswick easy in little over 
an hour. Take her if you want her.' So off I started once 
more. I got into Brunswick at just half-past three; left 
the mare at the stable, took a fresh horse for the grounds, 
and raced for Whittier Field, and you know the rest. Now, 
there is my part of the story, what can vou offer to help 
finish it out?" concluded Phil. 

The boys glanced furtively at one another, as though 
afraid to offer an opinion, 

"Beats me," breathed Kid. 

"Mighty lucky Hal Blackford was in fighting trim," haz- 
arded Giant. 

"Never saw a chap so tickled as he was when we notified 
him to take Phil's place," commented the captain, address- 
ing no one in particular. "Said he had been suffering for 
a chance on the team for weeks, in this particular game," 
added he, as no one replied to his first assertion. 

"None of that," sharply spoke up Phil, "I'd as soon sus- 
pect my own brother of double play as to suspect Hal!" 
and he left the room much disturbed by the implied doubt, 
the more so because for a moment, and only for a moment, 
Phil had had the same thought come to him. Hal had 

322 



Till' RIVAL FULI^BACKS 

envied him his position, he knew, and eagerly longed to be 
one of the contestants in this, the last game they should 
play as undergraduates of their beloved college. As he 
slowly walked along to the room where his friend lay fight- 
ing a harder battle than that of the afternoon, with much 
more at stake, his mind traversed their intimacy of the past 
four years, and the peculiar circumstances which had linked 
them together, in spite of much which might have destroyed 
a less firm friendship than theirs. 
^•^ Fate had seemingly decreed that he and Hal should be 
rivals in every important thing through their college course, 
from the time of election of chairman at the first class meet- 
ing down to the Fall term of this, their Senior year, when 
the rivalry for position of fullback on the team had been 
the keenest, and he had won only through superior pro- 
ficiency in punting. Although obliged to admit that his 
chums had some grounds upon which to base the suspicions 
they had hinted at, he could not believe that Hal, who had 
been the soul of honor, could by a miserable trick gain for 
himself the glory of playing in this game. Banishing, this 
from his mind as impossible and absurd, he stopped at the 
door of the room where Hal lay unconscious, to be met by 
Hal's sister Marguerite, of whom he had often heard, but 
never met. As he saw her sad and anxious face, he thought 
her the prettiest girl he had ever seen, and as she claimed 
him as Hal's best friend and told him mournfully of the 
possible result of her brother's injuries, his suspicion dis- 
appeared forever, and only sympathy and grief responded 
to her wordless appeal for comfort. All that night he 
watched by the bedside of the injured man, and was 
rewarded in the morning by seeing the closed lids slowly 
open, and catching the first faint words : "Did we do them 
up, Phil?" 

323 



TAIvKS OF BOWDOIN 

"Yes, and you nearly got done up yourself, old chap ; 
don't try to talk, but sleep," was Phil's hearty response, and 
Hal dropped off again as though relieved of his last and 
only care. The crisis was passed at this time, apparently, 
and news of one victory seemed harbinger of the other, so 
much desired; the victory of a sound constitution over 
almost certain death. 

A day or two later, Phil was astounded upon making his 
call upon his friend, to be met by Rita, with hands out- 
stretched, crying piteously. "Oh, don't tell me that you 
believe this wicked story which is circulating about, that 
Hal sent you a bogus telegram keeping you out of the game. 
You and he have been rivals; I know the whole story, I 
know, too, that after you won the $300 mathematical prize, 
and he would not accept the money you so generously 
offered him, that it was through your influence he was 
given that fine position that Summer which helped him so 
much towards working his way through college. I know 
your bravery in defending him from the crowd of town 
boys who laid in wait for him one night, and how you 
thrashed their leader, and were hurt yourself in the struggle. 
For that and your other kindnesses, Hal loves you, and if 
he hears this story, it will break his heart." 

What could Phil say? Simply that the whole thing was 
a piece of scandal, an outrage, and several other equally 
decisive denials, and get away as soon as possible to "punch 
the fellow that tattled/" as he wrathfully vowed to himself. 



The game had been played on Saturday, and since Sun- 
day, Kid, Giant and the captain had not been seen about 

324 



THE RIVAL FULLBACKS 

the campus. It was supposed they had cut college to cele- 
brate over the g'ame. 

Wednesday night, Giant sent word to Phil to meet him 
quietly in the captain's room. He found there with him, 
Kid and the captain. 

"Well," said Kid, "I have been playing the Old Sleuth 
act, and with the timely aid of these brave, lads, have found 
out who sent you your bogus telegram. 

"After you left us, Saturday night, we held a little con- 
sultation, and then I went down town after my mail. On 
the way I met Tom Britton, the tough you will remember 
who led the yaggers the night they so nearly did up Hal 
Blackford. As I passed him, he looked up out of the side 
of his eye and said to me, 'You played a great game, today, 
Barker.' 

" 'We did,' T said coolly, 'but your little trick didn't work 
to keep Edson out of it, did it?' He drew back at me, 
muttering that he knew nothing about Edson, nor any trick, 
but I smiled and went on about my business. 

"You see, we had reasoned it out about this way. Brit- 
ton is a coward, and a bully, but he is no fool. He has 
known as the town boys do know, all about the plans for 
this game, and how we depended on a goal from the field 
or a place kick to win the game if it came close. Also, that 
Phil had practiced that particular play, for this game, which 
would be his last, and that he would almost give his right 
hand before he would lose a chance to play in it. He 
thought by gettmg Phil away he would not only revenge 
himself for the licking Phil gave him on one memorable 
occasion, but would cause the possible defeat of the team, 
and the downfall of our hopes, two things which would of 
all others suit him. 

325 



TALES OF BOVVDOIN 

"So," said Kid, in a burlesque dramatic way, "we selected 
these former knights of Phi Chi whom you see before you, 
and planned the campaign. It was to be brief and decisive, 
Tom lives down on the Plains, and last night as he was 
returning from town about half jagged, a bag was sud- 
denly thrown over his head. I am happy to state that I 
gave him a solar plexus on my own account which rendered 
him superior to mundane events for a considerable time. 

''I guess you fellows can imagine where Tom found him- 
self when he awoke," continued Kid with a chuckle. "He 
was in the cave by the sounding sea. He was confronted 
by the most ghostlike crowd he ever saw, and charged with 
his crimes. To his credit, though badly scared, he denied 
the thing in toto. Without further ado, we took the tackle, 
and after blindfolding him, began to lower him into the 
Devil's Hole. I happen to know that that hole is fifteen 
feet deep, for I helped to measure it, but I guess Tom 
thought it was about fifteen hundred. He begged to be let 
out ; but we were in for it, and when he was safe at the bot- 
tom we pulled off the bandage from his eyes, and set the 
electrical serpents to running. Gee, wasn't he frightened! 
After a while he was pulled out, and he told the whole story. 

"He had stolen a telegraph blank, fixed up the message 
and started a small boy for the college with it. We not 
only made him confess, but compelled him to sign a written 
confession, and then left him tied to a tree down below 
Merrymeeting, and he may be there yet." 

A mass meeting was called in Memorial and the whole 
assemblage was told the story by Phil, who eulogized Black- 
ford and praised his playing, declaring that his work in the 
first half had really as much to do with vi^inning the game 
as had his own lucky kick in the second half. Of course, 
then the easiest thing in the world for college boys to do 

326 



THE RIVAL FULLBACKS 

was to form a procession and march over to the hall where 
Hal was lying, and he was cheered again and again. While 
he knew nothing of the suspicions launched against him, 
the fact that he was thus remembered was more than medi- 
cine to the injured man, and each cheer was a liberal dose 
of a reviving tonic. 

As Phil and TIal were walking across the campus, the 
night after the Dance on the Green which closed the Class 
Day exercises, Phil stopped abruptly in the shadow of a big 
tree, and gazing across the enchanted grounds now bathed 
in moonlight and beautiful to his fond eye as no other spot 
on earth can hope to be, remarked in a self-conscious man- 
ner, "Your sister told me tonight, Hal. that she thought 
Edson such a pleasant name she might possibly adopt it, 
about Christmas time." 

The two men clasped hands and Hal said with tender- 
ness in his voice, ''Dear old Bowdbin never graduated a 
happier lad than this news makes me." 



BOWDOIN^S FIRST 

GREAT BOAT-RACE 



D. A. Robinson, '73 



BOWDOIN'5 riRST GRllAT BOAT-RACE 



IT was at the close of one of the Bovvdoin banquets, and a 
number of the younger graduates had remained to smoke 
awhile longer, sing a few more songs, and tell again the 
stories of their college days. With them had remained one 
of the older men, one, though gray and wrinkled, yet who 
liked to be "with the boys," and tried on such occasions to 
forget the half a century that had passed since he was 
young, and to seem, to himself at least, to be a boy again 
among the rest. They had just finished singing old "Phi 
Chi" for the "steenth" time, when one of the boys suddenly 
turned to the Old Grad and said, "It's up to you, old man; 
you must sing us a song or tell a story now." 

He was pleased at the attention shown him, for it some- 
how seemed to make him more nearly one of their number, 
but he modestly said that he could not sing as they very well 
knew, having heard him try several times ; and as for a 
story, it was much more interesting to him to listen to their 
songs and hear their fun, than anything he could say would 
be to them. But they were so persistent and apparently 
sincere in their desire to hear from him that he finally con- 
sented ; and when the cigars had been relighted and the 
chairs tilted back to the usual angle, he began as follows : 

"The first time I walked in through the posts beyond the 
Church on the Hill and looked upon the Bowdoin campus, 
way back in the sixties, there was a far different view from 
what you see there to-day. Old Massachusetts Hall had 

331 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

not been remodelled and its upper story made into a museum 
as it is now, but it had the same antique and dilapidated 
appearance as when its walls resounded to the voice of 
Parker Cleveland. The foundation of Memorial Hall had 
Just been finished, and the granite for its walls was piled all 
about that part of the campus. There was no Searles 
Science Building, no Walker Art Building, no Gymnasium, 
no Observatory. The North end of Winthrop was closed 
for repairs. The only entrance to it, as I soon found, was 
over the 'Tarpeian Rock,' a hole dug through the middle 
wall from the closet of the inside back room in the upper 
story. Through this hole, in the dead hours of the night. 
Sophomores were wont to haul such Freshmen as did not 
keep fully up to the standard of college ethics as made and 
provided for their guidance, and bring them to trial in the 
courts of Sodom, as the North end was called, to distinguish 
it from Gomorrah, which was the scriptural name of the 
South end. To have 'Sodom' written in chalk upon his 
door, or hear the words in sepulchral tones, 'Sodom, 
to-night,' was the direst threat a Freshman could be sub- 
jected to in those days. As I was saying, when I first came 
upon the campus I was wholly unacquainted with college 
ways and customs, and knew only two or three of the stu- 
dents. I found a kind-hearted Junior who lived 'up my 
way,' who allowed me to sleep in his room, until I could 
take my examinations and procure a room of my, own. 

"By Saturday night I had collected a few pieces of second 
hand furniture, sold to me at 'greatly reduced rates' (!) by 
upper-classmen, and about ten, I went to bed eager for Mon- 
day to come when I could begin college work in earnest. 
I had been asleep about an hour, and was dreaming of the 
great things I was going to accomplish while in college, 
when my dreams were suddenly brought to an untimely end 

332 



BOVVDOIN S FIRST GREAT BOAT-RACE 

by a great noise, in my room and all about me. When I 
opened my eyes I saw that the room was packed full of 
students, every one of whom had on a mask and was blow- 
ing a tin horn most vigoroi.isly ; and one, with a black nose 
about half a yard long, was holding it close to my face 
and saying in most peremptory tones : 'Freshie, get up ! 
Freshie, get up !' T at once obeyed, and was politely 
handed my pants, and as I balanced myself on one leg to 
begin dressing, I was unceremoniously toppled over upon 
the bed in a heap, amid a great tooting of horns and shouts 
of laughter. I was then hustled out into the other room, 
and placed upon the top of the stove; a big flat 'air-tight' 
that was sold to me at a bargain by a Sophomore, who told 
me in confidence, it was 'the very one old Prof. Cleaveland 
used to have in his room !' I found afterwards there were 
several such about college. 

"By the time I was fairly standing upon the stove and the 
horn orchestra was getting in its work in good style about 
my ears. I thought the thing had gone far enough, and, 
having had a good deal of rough-and-tumble experience in 
the six years I had worked in a crew in a saw-mill, I made 
a leap into the crowd and was ready for a fight. But fight- 
ing was not on the program, and I was grabbed by as 
many as could get hold of me and put back upon my perch 
on the stove. Finding that everything was being done in 
a good-natured way, I subsided at once, and did whatever 
I was told to do. This spoiled the fun and they soon left 
me for other classmates. 

"This experience seemed to me so different, somehow, 
from what I had pictured college life to be, that I was at a 
loss to understand it for some time. There were other 
things that surprised me as well. When I came upon the 
campus one of the first things to catch my eye was a long, 

333 



tai.es of bowdoin 

slim boat, turned over upon some wooden horses under 
the trees in front of Winthrop Hall, I was told that it was 
a race-boat, called a single shell, belonging to one of the 
students. I wondered how anyone could spend the precious 
time while at college in such a wasteful manner as rowing 
in boat races. A little farther along I saw a larger boat, 
which proved to be a four-oared race-boat, called the 'For- 
get-me-not,' — some of the older graduates will remember 
that famous boat and it wonderful crews — but I mentally- 
vowed that no temptations would induce me to so far forget 
what I came to college for, as to take part in any such 
frivolous sports. But alas for my good intentions, I soon 
became better acquainted with shells and college rowing 
than I could ever have dreamed possible in my early Fresh- 
man days. 

"The next year our class bought a four-oared shell and 
formed a class crew. The State regatta was to be held that 
Fall at Bath, and the college entered a crew. But the 
college crew had such hard luck, the bow oar having to 
give up on account of boils, and the stroke on account of an 
attack of whooping cough, that it was finally decided to send 
our class crew to represent the college in that race, and I 
was given a seat in the boat. It was only tv/o weeks before 
the race and though I had had plenty of experience rowing 
batteaux and running rafts on the river at home, I had 
never been in a racing shell with outriggers, nor used a 
spoon oar. But I soon found that I could keep my balance 
and row quite a stroke, though the oars seemed merely 
playthings to the big ones I had been accustomed to using. 
On the day of the race nearly the whole college 'went 
fluking on the railway down to Bath,' as the old song says, 
to see the regatta. There were four other crews beside 
ours, the Longshoremen of Portland, afterwards a famous 

334 



bowdoin's first grkat boat-race 

crew, the Emeralds of Portland, with Pat and Mike Davis 
for stroke and bow, the Ariels of Portland and the Gleams 
of Bath. The water was pretty rough down at the start 
and it was with difficulty that v/e could get into our boat 
from the tug- and get started. 

"We were nearly out to the starting line when a big wave 
struck my oar, and I caught a crab with such force as to 
break my oar ofif at the 'button.' We went back to the tug 
and found that our spare oars had been left in the boat- 
house three miles away ! The Longshoremen refused to 
wait for us to get another oar and to our great chagrin and 
the keen disappointment of the whole college the race was 
started without the Bowdoin crew ! 

This was not a very promising beginning for boating at 
Bowdoin, but it was the beginning of her racing against 
outside crews. That same year the intercollegiate rowing 
association was formed and the first race rowed at Spring- 
field, Mass. Only two crews entered, Harvard and the 
Amherst 'Aggies.' To the surpise of all, excepting those 
who knew how crews were then picked out at Harvard, 
the 'Aggies' Avon. At the next meeting Bowdoin sent rep- 
resentatives to the association and entered a crew for the 
race. 

"To be represented in such an association and to have 
the prospect of a crew in the race, gave a great stimulus 
to aquatics at Bowdoin, and the whole attention of the 
students was devoted to that branch of athletics. Volun- 
teers were called for to begin training for the 'Varsity' crew, 
and everyone began reading about the Harvard and Yale 
and Oxford and Cambridge races, and rowing talk was 
uppermost in all the college clubs. The race was to be in 
six-oared shells without a cockswain, three miles straight 
away. About a dozen men began training in the old 'Com- 

335 



TALES OF BOVVDOIN 

mons Hall,' then the gymnasium, now I believe the car- 
penter's shop. 

"I did not expect to be a member of the crew, for there 
were so many others who seemed better fitted for it than I 
was, but as J liked the exercise, having been used to hard 
work in the mill at home, I kept up practice with the crew 
all winter, George Price, the bow-oar of the famous 'Paris 
Crew' — so called because it had won the races at the Paris 
Exposition in 1867, — was engaged to train the crew, when 
the ice should go out of the river, and it could begin work 
on the water. A new shell was ordered from Elliott, the 
famous boatbuilder of Greenpoint, N. Y. For practicing, 
until the crew could sit in a shell, an old six-oared lap- 
streak was hired from Portland. At length the ice went 
out and the trainer put in an appearance to pick out the 
crew, and teach them the racing stroke. You may imagine 
my surprise when it was announced that I was to be given 
a seat in the crew ! We found it no easy task to go down 
to the river before breakfast every morning and again after 
supper and pull that heavy lapstreak over the two-mile 
course, half of the way against a strong tide, with the 
trainer in the stem, keenly watching every motion, and 
urging us to do a little more all the time. Our hands were 
soon blistered and every muscle in our bodies lame and sore, 
not to mention other discomforts caused bv sliding on the 
seats to get a little longer stroke. But our hands soon 
became toughened, our muscles hardened to the work, our 
wounds healed, and we 'trained off our second wind,' so 
that the work became easier each day. Our new shell came 
at last and to our great disgust we found that an old lady, 
in examining it while coming down upon the boat, had 
punched a hole through the bottom of it with the end of 
her umbrella! This meant two more weeks in the heavy 

336 




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BOWDOIN S FIRST CRCAT BOAT-RACE 

m 

lapstreak. Finally we got our new shell and our new spoon 
oars from Ross of New Brunswick, the famous oarmakei;^ 
of the Paris Crew, and then we beg-an to find but what we 
could do. The result of our 'time rows' was very encour- 
aging for a good place in the race. During Commencement 
week of that year, in order that the crew might not be dis- 
turbed by the festivities of such occasions, we were taken 
to a boarding house down at 'Humphreys Mill,' where the 
Casino of Merrymeeting Park now stands. Two weeks 
before the time appointed for the race, which was the sec- 
ond week in July, we went to Springfield. 

"We found that quarters had been engaged for us at 
Mr. Harrison Loomis', in West Springfield, two or three 
miles above the starting point of the course. After our 
arrival at Springfield the real interest and excitement began. 
All the other college crews had arrived before we came 
and were practicing every day upon the river. We took 
great interest in watching the other crews row, noting the 
kind of stroke each used, and reading the newspaper com- 
ments about them. As we were so far away from the 
course, and rowed up river instead of down while practicing, 
the other crews did not get an opportunity to see us row 
until a day or two before the race, when we went over the 
course 'on time.' As we went by the training quarters of 
the other crews we could see groups of students and their 
friends rush down to their landings and level their glasses 
upon us, and we knew that we were for the first time being 
'sized up' by all our college rivals. The next day the most 
important headline in the Springfield papers was, 'Bow- 
doin Goes Over the Course for the First Time' ! Then fol- 
lowed columns of comments upon our crew, our stroke, our 
speed, and speculations about our probable position at the 
finish. All of this was of course intensely interesting to 
u 337 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

US, but the paragraph that pleased our trainer the most was 
the one that contained the comments of John BigHn. He 
was a famous oarsman in those days and was there looking 
after one of the college crews. As we went by he was 
standing on the shore, with a reporter of one of the Spring- 
field papers and a group of college men about him. 'There 
goes a crew on time,'* said the reporter. 'Who are they?' 
Biglin looked at the crew a moment, and then recognizing 
the familiar swing of the old 'Paris Crew' stroke, he said, 
'That must be the crew that George Price is training.' 
'Then it is the Bowdoin crew,' said the reporter, 'What a 
queer stroke,' said a Yale man who was in the group. 'Isn't 
that what they call rowing in a circle' ? Biglin, whose eyes 
had not been taken from the crew since it came in sight, 
turned to the students about him and said, 'Well, boys, you 
may call that stroke rowing in a circle, or what you like, but 
if they can make their boat go like that over the whole 
course on the day of the race, that's the winning crew.' We 
were naturally much elated at such praise from a profes- 
sional oarsman, and the betting fraternity evidently took 
the tip from this remark and from that time to the day of 
the race the Bowdoin crew was the favorite against 'the 
field.' 

"For several days before the race I had noticed that when 
we came to the last half mile in our practicing, especially 
if we had an unusually hard spin, the boat would have such 
a 'list to port' that I could not feather my oar clear of the 
water. I spoke of this several times to our trainer, who 
did not appear to take any notice of it ; but the night before 
the race he went with me out to the boathouse and taking 
out his pocket-knife he cut the 'gunnel' of the boat, where 
the handle of my oar came over it, clear down to the short 
ribs. 'There,' he said, 'I think that that will help you.' Then 

338 



bowdoin's first great boat-race 

he told me in confidence that one of the men had 'gone a 
little stale,' and when hard pressed at the end of the course 
would 'ease up' on his stroke, which would throw the boat 
over to the other side. 'But I think you will be far enough 
in the lead when this happens,' he said, 'that no one will 
get by you before he catches on again.' 

"The morning of the long expected day, at length dawned 
upon us. We had retired somewhat earlier than usual the 
evening before, but could not go to sleep quite as readily, 
for visions of the morrow's events would keep crowding in 
upon our mindi-, no matter how hard we would try to keep 
them out. As the race was not called until afternoon, we 
lounged around during the forenoon, trying to appear as 
indifferent and calm as possible. We put the finishing 
polish upon the boat, roughened the handles of our oars, 
tightened our foot-straps, and didi many little things of this 
kind, in order to have everything in perfect readiness for 
the race but more especially to keep from thinking too much 
about it. After a light lunch we launched our boat and 
paddled down to the starting point. All along the way we 
could see the roads on either side of the river filled with 
crowds of people, hurrying to get places where they could 
see the race. There was an observation train on one side 
of the river near the starting point loaded with an excited 
throng of students from the various colleges and their lady 
friends. Along the other bank stretched a fine carriage 
road which was lined with all kinds of vehicles, from a hay- 
rack to a tally-ho, each carrying its load of eager sight- 
seers. And every jutting point of land along the course 
was crowded with groups of college men ready to cheer 
their respective crews to victory. 

"We didn't see many white flags displayed, for Bowdoin 
was too far 'down East' for many of her students to attend 

339 



TAIvES OF BOWDOIN 

the races there; but old Mike Ilarrigan, the captain of the 
river steamer, saluted us as he swept down the course, his 
boat loaded down with passengers, and he was proudly- 
carrying the Bowdoin flag at his masthead. We drew lots 
for places at the start and found that we came between 
Harvard and Yale. Beginning from the western shore the 
boats lined up as follows : Amherst 'Aggies,' Harvard, Bow- 
doin, Yale, Amherst, and Brown. So we had a good 
position near the middle of the river. The tide was pretty 
strong that day, and it took a long time to get the boats into 
line for the start, for it is no easy matter to handle one of 
those long racing shells in a swift current. 

"After a good deal of floating down past the buoys and 
backing up again, the line was formed, the starter dropped 
the flag and shouted 'Go !' 

"A great shout went up from the crov/ds on either shore. 
We dug our oars into the water with the short starting 
stroke we had practiced, the next a little longer, the third a 
full stroke pulled with all the strength that three months of 
hard and faithful training had given us, and our boat went 
jumping through the water with a speed to delight the heart 
of the most critical oarsman. So intent were we upon our 
work that we did not notice for some little time that all the 
other crews had stopped rowing, and the referee was firing 
his pistol and shouting for us to come back. It seemed that 
Yale and Brown were not ready for the word and did not 
start at all, so we had to go back and try again. This was 
exasperating to us, but we came into line again with 
renewed courage, for we had seen that we could get away 
as quickly as any of them. 

"It didn't take so long to get into line this time, for 
everyone was ready and eager for the race. At the word 
we were oflF again ; our oars went into the water together, 

340 



bowdoin's First great boat-race 

came out without bucket or hang at the finish, were 
feathered flat ; just skimmed the surface without touching 
it, and went in again in perfect time. The boat rode on an 
even keel, and we could feel it jump ahead at every stroke, 
as the six brown backs bent with all their power upon the 
oars. After a few moments had gone by I ventured to look 
about me, and to my great satisfaction, I could count five 
boats behind us, so we were surely in the lead. We kept 
up the spurt with which we started until the nearest boat 
was several lengths behind, and then settled down to our 
regular racing stroke. So determined had we been to get 
the lead that, as we learned afterwards, we had rowed the 
first half-mile in two minutes and two seconds and had 
passed the first mile flag inside of five minutes, making a 
record, both for professionals and amateurs, for a mile with 
a six-oarcd boat. 

"When about half way over the course, the boat that was 
nearest to us, which I could tell was Harvard from the 
crimson oarblades and sliding seats, began to slowly lessen 
the gap between us. Seeing this, a group of Harvard men 
upon the shore began to cheer most lustily. As the 'Rah ! 
Rah ! Rah ! Harvard !' was roared from a hundred throats, 
we could see the crimson oars flash more quickly to the 
stroke, and then their boat came dashing through the water, 
lessening the space between us every moment. When only 
a boat length separated us, we quickened our stroke to a 
spurt and soon saw them fall astern. 

"We had hardly dropped back to our regular stroke, 
when looking farther out on our port side I could see 
another boat, already ahead of Harvard, and coming very 
fast. Suddenly 'Amherst ! Amherst ! Amherst !' came across 
the water from the shore in shrill and frantic tones, and 
then this other boat came tearing after us like a race horse 

341 



TALES 01' BOWDOIN 

under the whip. Again we quickened up our stroke and 
soon had the satisfaction of seeing Amherst drop astern as 
Harvard had. We passed the two-mile flag, and had 
entered upon the last mile of the course, when again the 
snappy Harvard cheer was heard, this time louder and 
fiercer than before. The Harvard crew again responded 
gamely to the call and came on as if bound to win or die. 
But we were equal to the task and gave them spurt for 
spurt and kept the lead. 

"So we went rushing down the course. Bowdoin in the 
lead, Harvard a few lengths behind on the starboard side, 
Amherst the same distance to port, and the others trailing 
farther back. As we drew nearer to the end the crowds 
became greater and more excited. Our exertions had 
begun to tell upon us, and though the stroke was kept up 
there was not quite so much driving power behind it, but 
we were still ahead and felt certain we would win. The 
cheering kept growing louder and more prolonged, the 
*Rah ! Rah ! Rah !' from hundreds of enthusiastic Harvard 
men kept their crew up to their work in splendid style. 
Amherst, encouraged by the good race they had already 
made, kept up the killing pace with most persistent and 
seemingly untiring energy. So we fought it out, length 
by length, with Bowdoin still ahead. A crashing Harvard 
cheer again rang over the v/ater, at once joined and made 
louder and more thunderous by the shouts of those who 
were urging Amherst on. The two boats seemed suddenly 
to take on new life and the gap between them and us was 
rapidly closing. Our stroke went up from 42 to 44, but 
still they gained. We quickened to 46, which seemed to 
barely hold them where they were. Just then above the din 
of cheering came the piercing blast of a steam whistle, which 
was so loud and shrill that for the moment all other noise 

342 



BOWDOIN S FIRST GREAT BOAT-RACE 

was drowned. Mike Harrigan had pulled wide open the 
whistle valve, to cheer us on. This friendly signal acted 
like an electric shock upon our crew. The stroke went up 
to 48, clean and strong as at the start, the boat shot forward 
with increasing speed, and our hottest rivals began to fall 
astern again. Suddenly I felt a shiver in the boat, followed 
by that fatal 'lurch to port.' 

"The handle of my oar struck the 'gunnel' with a bang 
and the blade was buried to the button. While the port 
oars were thus dragging in the water the starboard oars 
were waving in the air. We struggled hard to right the 
boat and get the stroke again, but so great was the list to 
port that the oars of that side would not clear the water, 
while the other side could barely touch the water with their 
blades. The boat rocked from side to side and fast lost her 
headway. Amherst came steadily on, and now her bow 
lapped our stern. In a moment more she had passed as if 
we lay at anchor. Harvard lapped us next, and as she 
was going past we made a desperate effort to prevent it, but 
without success. How long we labored thus I do not know, 
for seconds seem hours at such a time. To have the victory 
that seemed so surely ours thus snatched by accident away 
when almost in our grasp was hard to bear. But still we 
struggled on, trying to keep defeat from being too disas- 
trous, and crossed the line the third instead of first, with 
almost broken hearts." 

As the Old Grad neared the end of his story, the inci- 
dents he was relating came so vividly to his mind, the cheer- 
ing crowds, the flashing oars, the flying boats, that he 
unconsciously had risen to his feet ; his tall form was drawn 
to its full height, the muscles of his sinewy arms could be 
seen working, as if in remembrance of the events of that 
day, his eyes shone with excitement, his face flushed, and 

o4o 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

his breath came quick and heavy as if a^ain he had been 
actually rowing in the race. When the end came he 
dropped into his chair and remained for some moments in 
silence. His auditors knew that although that first great 
race had been thus lost, the crews of Bowdoin in the next 
few years had won races over these same rivals and others. 
At length, with a sigh, he arose to his feet, and saying with 
a saddened voice, "I hope I haven't wearied you," went 
slowly out, without another word. 

The younger men sprang up and cheered him as he left, 
and then cheered again for Bowdoin pluck, and for the 
Bowdoin spirit which is the same inspiring force today that 
it has been through all the glorious history of the college. 



A COLLEGE GIRL^S 

BELATED IDEAL 

Frank Warri-n Hawthorne, '74 



n COLLEGE GIRL'S BELATED IDEAL 



And, last, to you, whose dainty shoe 

Imprints the pathways classic, 
O Brunswick girl, Romance's pearl, 

I drain a cup of Massic. 

PERCIVAL Jason McMillan sat alone at a little table in 
the grill of the University Club. But for his own 
presence and a group of attendants in a farther corner chat- 
ting and gossiping for the most part inaudibly, the room 
was deserted, quiet. It was still too early in the afternoon 
for up-town New York to drop in at its clubs on the way 
home to dinner. It was much earlier than McMillan's 
wont. If asked, he couldn't have told exactly why he was 
there at 3 o'clock. Why, the market had barely closed, 
and it would be an hour and a half yet before any of his 
friends was likely to put in an appearance! How did he 
happen to "blow in" so early? 

McMillan had a sort of half-way consciousness that the 
day, the weather perhaps, had had something to do with it. 
The month was October, and October had always been a 
more or less eventful month in the forty odd years of his 
life. It was in October that he had first met the girl whom 
he made his wife; they had become engaged in October — 
not the same October, of course not ; their wedding day was 
in October ; in October their boy had been born ; in the same 
month McMillan had "pulled up stakes" and gone into the 
Southwest with a vague idea of knocking a fortune of some 
sort out of that region ; in October, thirteen vears later, he 

347 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

had returned, moderately successful, and made a home in 
New York; and only a year before — almost the same date, 
in fact — he and the son had taken a desolate iourney up into 
Maine to bury the dead wife and mother — and here was 
another October rolled around again ! 

And what a glorious Indian Summer day it was, too ! 
Just like those which had made so deep an impression upon 
his boyhood life in Maine ! And what a flood of reminis- 
cence it called up ! 

McMillan had had a noon engagement to lunch and talk 
over some business with a friend on the upper West Side. 
It was all over by 2 o'clock, so he had walked through 
Seventy-second street to the Park, thinking to take a car 
there down town to his office. But the day, the bracing 
air, the resplendent foliage in the Park had somehow con- 
spired to lure him inside, and he had zigzagged leisurely 
through it, coming out at the Fifth Avenue plaza, and 
thence the walk down to his club was only a matter of a 
few minutes.. 

Why go down town? There was really no pressing 
reason why he should. The day had already been knocked 
into pieces, so far as doing any more business was con- 
cerned — so into the grill he had gone. 

But still the "King William high-ball" stood untasted on 
the table with its little cube of ice rapidly melting away; 
the cigar, with half an inch of ash on it but no suspicion of 
smoke about it, protruded over the edge of the little bronze 
tray; the top coat, hat and walking-stick lay in orderly 
fashion in the recess of the open window; and McMillan, 
well-preserved, rather stout, well-groomed, with the fingers 
of his left hand straying occasionally through his greyish- 
and-brown hair, sat thoughtfully with the October spell on 
him. 

348 



A COLLEJGE girl's REFLATED IDEAL 

Then a dignified mulatto in liveries, with a letter on a 
salver, appeared at the open door and, with his face and eyes 
discharged of all expression, announced perfunctorily : 

"Mr. Percival Jason McMillan!" 

The owner of the name started out of his reverie, made 
a motion of acquiescence, and the waiter advanced and 
placed the missive in his hand, retiring in perfectly conven- 
tional order. 

McMillan would have known the sender of the letter if 
he hadn't recognized the writing. Nobody but Thorne- 
leigh, his boy, ever addressed him by his full name like 
that. Thorneleigh had early discovered the two dactyls and 
the one spondee composing it and had insisted that even 
half a hexameter line shouldn't be wasted ; so for a long 
time before that was the mode the father's cards had borne 
all three names — and, if only it pleased Thorneleigh, it 
"went" in the McMillan family. 

The father's manner had changed instantly on the calling 
out of his name, and now he stood up, tossed off the stale 
high-ball not without a grimace, re-lighted his cigar, tore 
the note open and read : 

Philadelphia, October 19. 
My Dear Father:— 

Why can't you take a run over here to-morrow and spend Sunday with 
me? I can't get away myself, or I wouldn't ask you. But I'm very anxious 
to see you, and besides, I've something particular to talk over with you. 
You see, I sort of feel that I shouldn't have done it without first consulting 
you, and I want to ease my conscience— there, I've said that much, and I 
may as well tell the whole thing, right heie! 

I'm engaged. Of course, she's the sweetest girl in the world— but not the 
handsomest, if I do say it, who shouldn't. But you come over and see her 
for yourself. You'll fall dead in love with her, I know, right in the first act. 
I did. Met her only a week ago out at the Brandy wine Links; have seen 
her four times since— and liere I am, landed! I, only four months out of 
college, and less than three weeks in business ! Is it all very foolish ? You 
won't say so when you see the girl. Suzanna's "the whole thing"— and how 
does that name strike you? 

349 



TAI^DS OF BOWDOIN 

You see, her father, Surgeon Pearston, ciied out in the Philippines two 
years ago, and lier mother is now on her way home from there. Suzanna's 
just out of Bryn Mawr. I can't tell you any more about her here. We've 
been swapping biographies, but lier's doesn't come on very well— I inter- 
rupt her too often. 

But I'll tell you what I'll do: Meet you at the train to-morrow afternoon, 
turn you over for a while to Col. Jack Potter or some other of your old 
friends here, then take you with me to call on Suzanna; then I'll "blow" 
you both to a good dinner out at Wissehickon. We'll let Sunday take care 
of itself. 

Thanks for my November check so long in advance— and more for the 
extra fifty in it. You're a peach. Sincerely, 

THORNELEIGH. 

McMillan wasn't surprised. He never expected the boy 
would become engaged according to rule. But he had read 
the letter over for the third time before something in it set 
him to thinking hard again. Then he called a waiter, had 
his hat and other belongings checked at the coat-room, 
ascended to the library, hunted up a copy of Curtis' 'True 
and I" — which always had a sort of soothing effect on 
him — retired to a quiet corner and let the afternoon shadows 
gather slowly about him as he read and thought. 

The October spell was on him again. 



Yes, it was on him fast and deep. It took him back 
thirty years or more to a time when he was a boy fitting for 
Bowdoin and planning to enter there the next year. And 
it was a bright, crisp, clear October afternoon, too, an 
inspiriting scene that came up before him. 

College baseball Avas at that time in its infancy in New 
England. Even Harry and George Wright and the old 
"Red Stockings" had only just appeared on the professional 
horizon. Bowdoin had organized a good nine, but Har- 
vard's was the nearest team in the college world, and. the 

350 



A COLIvEGE girl's belated IDEAL 

Bowdoins were thus forced to confine their contests to such 
clubs as the State furnished. There were the Cushnocs of 
Augusta, the Eons of Portland, the Live Oaks of Bath, in 
all of whom the college boys had found "foemen worthy of 
their steel" ; and latterly, up in Oxford county, the Pennese- 
wassees of Norway or Paris Hill or some other old hill, had 
entered the lists for the Maine championship and the 
trophy — a huge solid silver ball made to order in Boston 
and encased in a truly magnificent silk-lined jewellers' box. 
These farmers were playing "phenomenal ball" even at that 
early day, had wiped up the earth with all ordinary comers, 
and on the afternoon that came so vividly back into 
McMillan's memory they were playing the last game in a 
three-cornered series, being tied with the Bowdoins, and the 
championship — not forgetting the silver ball — was hinged 
on this contest. 

What a scene! A regular Donnybrook Fair in minia- 
ture! And what a crowd, too! They had come from all 
over. The whole town and a good part of Topsham had 
turned out, of course, and it seemed as if every livery team 
in Bath, Lewiston and Freeport had been called into com- 
mission for the occasion, with nearly all the farm- wagons in 
the intervening country thrown in for good measure. On 
both sides of the Delta the Bath road and the Harpswell 
road were jammed full of teams — many of them gay turn- 
outs, with gay young men and women occupying than — 
and the cavalcade stretched away down into the pines and 
opposite the Dunlap monument ; the grand-stand was filled 
to overflowing with students and the "college girls" of 
Brunswick; ever>' window in the Medical Hall had been 
preempted, and "yaggers" swung from the branches of 
every near-by tree. 

351 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

Into all this mix-up McMillan, with his plump cousin in 
a brand-new gown and jacket at his side, had steered her 
black mare and phaeton. They had driven from their home 
in a neighboring town and had come upon the scene just 
in the middle of the third inning, the game being tempo- 
rarily stopped in order that Dr. "Johnny" Lincoln might 
examine the eye of "Sile" Burnham of the Pennesewassees 
to learn if it had been seriously injured by a hot "liner" 
struck by Bill Perley of '69. The "Oxford Bears" were one 
ahead on the score, and the excitement was intense. Blithe- 
cock of '68, only just graduated, with a couple of 
Dartmouth Seniors, who had come down from Hanover 
to arrange for a Bowdoin-Dartmouth game if possible, 
approached the phaeton to greet the plump cousin (it was 
for this — not the game — that she had come) ; so McMillan 
left her in their company and mingled with the excited 
crowd. 

He had a slight acquaintance with two or three under- 
graduates, and after some difficulty managed to find 
Witchell of '72, who took him in tow and steered him onto 
everything of interest, taking advantage, now and then, of 
the opportunity to do a little quiet "fishing." 

"Fifty cents he don't make his second!" came in a shrill, 
thin voice from near the posts on the Harpswell-road side 
of the Delta. There stood a short, slight fellow in very 
light trousers, the "bobbiest" of bob-tail cutaways, a black 
derby hat cocked over on his ear, a red neck-tie, and bunches 
of greasy "scrip" held between his fingers, while he ges- 
ticulated wildly with both arms and kept repeating his offer 
in the sharpest crescendo. (This was long before the 
resumption of specie payments, and our only fractional cur- 
rency was paper and pennies). 

352 



A COLLEGE girl's BELATED IDEAL 

It was Goodwin of '72, and close by him was his Pidiis 
AcJmtes, Ireland, of the same class, somewhat similarly 
attired, but towering fully a foot above him in height. 

Price of '71, with a most disreputable-looking "stove- 
pipe" perched on the back of his head and a long-stemmed 
German pipe held between his teeth, took the bet, after 
rolling his r's a good deal in discussing the terms of it. As 
a sport. Price was much inclined to look too long for a sure 
thing. "Bob" Robertson, the tailor, standing close by with 
his Scotch-plaid trousers, as usual, guiltless of belt or 
"galluses," held the stakes, remarking to Goodwin as he 
took the money, while caressing his drooping red mous- 
tache with the back of his hand : "You'll never see the color 
of that fifty again, Frank!" 

There was betting of a similar sort going on all around 
the diamond. All the college sports were in it, with not 
a few yaggers and other outsiders. They all held their 
"scrip" between their fingers counting it occasionally, after 
the manner of a side-show hawker at a circus ; sometimes 
the stakes would mount up to a dollar or two, which would 
be the signal for a good deal of crowding and pushing 
around the betters, and then "Old Pot" and Townsend, 
the two town constables, would have to "move-on" the 
crowd and threaten dire things for disobedience. The bet- 
ting was going on constantly — fresh ones as often as a 
player went to the bat, and a good deal of wild hedging 
and doubling up whenever a base runner chanced to reach 
third safely. 

It was a Norway lad, "Jud" Parrott, who was spitting 
on his hands at the home plate and trying the bat in all 
sorts of positions, when Goodwin made his bet. "Jud's" 
uniform was not a uniform at all — it was sui generis on 
that diamond: A coarse-ribbed grey undershirt, with the 
V 353 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

sleeves rolled well up above the elbows ; a visorless red cap ; 
a pair of "pants" cut off square at the knees ; red stockings 
that didn't come quite up to the "pants," thus disclosing 
a good bit of intervening white cotton flannel ; and for shoes 
a pair of old rubber boots cut off at the ankles. No two 
of the Pennesewassee "uniforms" were alike except in the 
one feature of abbreviated leg gear, and one of the nine 
invariably went to the bat barefooted, while others ran their 
bases in long-legged boots. 

But "Jud" was onto Perley's curves in great shape. He 
sent the ball spinning way down among the pines and went 
sprawling onto third with both hands in front of him just 
a second before the Bowdoins' centre fielder got the ball up 
there. He was safe, and the yelling and excitement became 
intense, while the bets were multiplied furiously. 

"Toot" Carr, asleep on the box of his hack with four 
smartly dressed Portland fellows inside, woke up at the 
noise, blinked sleepily around, borrowed a fresh chew from 
a bystander, and then lapsed promptly again "into the arms 
of Morphine," as Melcher of '71 put it — whereat the assem- 
bled students laughed inordinately, and little McMillan 
thought it must be a fine thing to be an undergraduate at 
Bowdoin. 

In front of the south steps of Adams a bit of a town-boy 
whom everybody called Herbert was selling molasses candy, 
and another little sawed-off yagger called "Ratzy". was 
peddling cheroots. "Pure Havanas!" he kept shouting, 
"Pure Havanas I Cut off at both ends so't I could get 'em 
into the box !" 

Over in the rear shadows of the old, low-studded gym- 
nasium across the Bath road, Ackley of ^^2. was showing the 
abnormally developed muscles of his right calf to an 
admiring crowd, when "Prof" Dole appeared on the scene, 

354 



A COLLEGE girl's belated IDEAL 

coming through the Appian Way, and dispersed the sight- 
seers, the whole party rushing pell-mell over into the Delta, 
where pandemonium had broken loose. 

"Jud" Parrott had been put out trying to steal home, 
"Wally" Hooker of the Bowdoins had made a home run in 
the last half of the fifth, and the score was now tied on 
even innings. In all the buggies and barouches the occu- 
pants were standing up cheering lustily for Bowdoin or the 
" 'Wassees" and waving handkerchiefs, hats, canes and 
improvised flags. The college girls kept up an almost con- 
tinuous hand-clapping, and as often as it subsided some- 
body would call for "three cheers for Hooker !" which would 
be given with a "tiger" on the end that awoke the echoes. 
Bowdoin, like most of the American colleges, had not yet, 
in the autumn of 1868, arisen to the dignity of a college 
yell. 

A party of Gleam Boat Club men from Bath, standing 
on the seats of an open carriage, were offering all sorts of 
wagers on the college nine, with few takers, when a hump- 
backed sport from Portland elbowed his way through the 
surging crowd and, flashing a crisp, new bill on the Bath 
enthusiasts, shouted : 

"A hundred dollars even that the farmers win the ball !" 

That feazed the Bath boys for a minute or two, especially 
as the hunch-back kept repeating the offer. But, after a 
whispered consultation, Frank Russell, two of the Hough- 
ton boys and Frank Joslyn-Ricker came up with the "cen- 
tury." "Bill" Field held the stakes, and the backers of 
Bowdoin took heart again as news of the $200 bet flew over 
the field. 

The game moved along with varying fortune for the two 
teams through the sixth and seventh innings — a whole game 
used sometimes to occupy four or five hours in those days — 

355 



TALES OP BOWDOIN 

and McMillan, strolling about among the onlookers with 
now and then an introduction from his undergraduate 
friend to some well-known college character, was at length 
attracted by a smart basket phaeton outfit, with two young 
girls on the seat, one of them holding a whip in her right 
hand while with the left she managed the reins as dex- 
terously as a track expert. 

She was a picture — an oval-shaped, rather thoughtful- 
expressioned face, with blueish hazel eyes and dark brown 
hair; a gown of some soft black, clinging material unre- 
lieved by even a bit of color or other adornment; a big, 
broad scarf of white India mull about her neck crossed 
demurely in front like a nun's amice and caught and held 
together with a college society pin ; a big black hat flaring 
up on one side and topped with two great ostrich feathers, 
white and black ; her black kid gloves fitted a pair of plump 
hands as perfectly as those on the store models; and a 
short black-cloth jacket, perfectly plain, completed a cos- 
tume that was not fashionable or even conventional in those 
days; and the figure was all the more striking in its 
picturesqueness because of its contrast with the handsome, 
stylishly dressed girl at her side. 

"That's Miss Halsey, the most popular college girl in 
Brunswick," whispered Witchell. "All the best fellows 
know her from Seniors down and a half dozen of 'em are 
in love with her, so it's said. She knows everything that's 
going on in college, all the college secrets, all the little love 
affairs and flirtations; but she never gossips, never gets 
anybody in trouble, and never makes an enemy, they say. 
And the girls all like her, too. She treats a Freshman or 
a Medic just as nicely as she does a Junior — and I guess 
that's the secret of it." 

356 



A COLI.EGE GlRIv''S BELATED IDEAL 

But Witchell, unfortunately, didn't enjoy an acquaintance 
with this picturesque paragon of a girl — so little McMillan 
was unhappy for the moment, as there was no chance of 
being presented to her then. 

The game went furiously on into the first half of the 
ninth inning — but McMillan had lost all interest in it. The 
basket phaeton with the calico mare kept moving all about, 
always with a group of students about it, and sometimes it 
disappeared altogether from the scene; but wherever it 
stopped about the Delta, McMillan somehow found himself 
near, with his eyes fairly rivetted on the black-gowned 
driver. His student escort had left him, and he was just 
beginning to wonder if it wasn't time to look up his plump 
cousin, when loud shouts, angry protests and a bit of pro- 
fanity intermingled suddenly drew his attention, and pushed 
along by the crowd he found himself near the home plate. 

"Sile" Bumham had struck a "grounder" down past the 
first base, and followed it himself as if shot out of a can- 
non's mouth; the ball had been stopped by the Bowdoins' 
right fielder, who sent it in to the first baseman in fine form 
just as "Sile's" rubber shoe landed on the bag. Was he 
"out" or not ? 

"Judgment' Judgment!" went up from all over the field. 
The umpire hesitated, and players and spectators all 
crowded up about that official to proffer advice and give 
information. A hundred or more were talking, shouting, 
protesting, arguing all at once — and the excitement -^as 
at an almost riotous pitch, for the Pennesewassees had a 
good lead in the score, there were two men out already, and 
the Bowdoins had only half an inning in which to catch up; 
besides, there was more or less "scrip" up on the game and 
on this particular play. "Sile" Bumham couldn't resist the 

357 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

temptation to join in the angry debate, and he started to 
run up to the umpire. 

"Hold your gool, 'Sile' ! Hold that gool, Silas! Get 
back there, you d n fool !" 

The "Wassees' " captain had a voice on him like a hired 
man's and his warning came none too soon, for the first 
baseman, who had also been off the bag, was already bear- 
ing down on Silas to clap the ball on him, in which event 
he would have been out anyway, much to the umpire's 
relief. Silas obeyed in time, but "Hold your gool !" from 
that moment became a college byword and went down 
securely in Bowdoin baseball traditions. 

At length came the decision — "Out at first ! Three out ! 
Side out !" 

And the Bowdoins, not altogether cheerful or hopeful, 
went back to the bat for the last time, with the odds heavily 
against them. 

A whitewash was their record for that inning. 

Then the riotous element broke loose again. They yelled, 
hissed, hurrahed, "groaned" for the umpire and did all sorts 
of things to stir up the excited crowd and add to the general 
confusion. Skittish horses reared and backed, wheels got 
interlocked, there were one or two upsets and half a dozen 
incipient fights stopped promptly by the long-bearded "Pot." 
On top of it all a chorus of horns swelled up from over on 
the campus, the big Phi Chi drum boomed a thunderous 
bass, the "ponderous hewgag that had made Gomorrah 
hum" for five years back added its notes to the din, and 
then twenty odd Sophomores, in battered "beavers" and 
skull-and-cross-bones togas, and led by Charlie "Shep" 
came trooping into the field. Eye-glassed Seniors and 
smartly dressed Juniors were carrying members of the 

358 



A COI.LEGE GiRIvS BELATED IDEAL 

defeated nine about on their shoulders just as if they were 
victors; the president of the baseball association had made 
a little speech formally surrendering^ the silver ball to the 
Norway boys ; their captain had replied in an acknowledg- 
ment that comprehended little more than "Thank you. By 
gawd, Silas, we've got that ball !" ; the early evening 
shadows were already gathering, and the crowd was begin- 
ning to scatter. 

Then "Mose" Owen of '6i, who had been in the company 
of the Gleam Boat Club boys all the afternoon, and under 
the influence of their hospitality had felt the afflatus divinus 
gradually moving him to composition, stood up on the box 
of "Ant" Hall's hack and read dramatically to the multi- 
tude, now hushed into semi-silence, these lines scrawled in 
pencil on a glazed paper cuff — an apostrophe to his home 
ball nine: 

"Majestic Live Oaks ! Your names shall stand 
When broken noses adorn the land, 
And forth, next Spring, at your Bicker's call 
May you strike a blow for that silver ball 
Which now reposes, 'mid cows and bosses. 
Up with the gentle Pennesewasses; 
For, though Bowdoins swore they would never yield, 
They were "choked" to death on their chosen field— 
They got dismayed, and could not rally 
At the cry of 'Out!' instead of 'Tally!' " 

Thus ended the famous Bowdoin-Pennesewassee game. 

Little McMillan had never lost sight of the basket phae- 
ton. But now he rather reluctantly hunted up the plump 
cousin, who promptly substituted him for the Dartmouth 
man at her side, the striped, crocheted lap-robe was tucked 
m at the sides of the buggy, and they were just about to 
take the road for home when the plump cousin whispered: 

"Why, there comes Suzanne Halsey ! Just the sweetest, 
sensiblest girl ! I've been trying all the afternoon to get a 

359 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

chance to speak with her. You ought to know her, Percy. 
Whoa !" — and the introduction was over in half a minute. 

It was merely a well-bred nod, a hurried chat with the 
cousin, and then : ''I hear you're to enter Bowdoin next year, 
Mr. McMillan. I hope I shall see something of you and 
that we'll be good friends. Good night!" 

And the picturesque paragon in black gracefully waved 
her whip with the Bowdoin ribbons tied on the handle, and 
whisked out of sight in the early twilight. 

McMillan had met his fate — but it took him a long, long 
time to find it out. 



'"Wake up there, Fleecie ! Break away there, old man ! 
We've been looking all over for you for the past three 
hours." (Early in his college days McMillan's middle 
name had easily suggested Jason's voyage in search of 
the golden fleece — and thenceforward he was known as 
"Fleecie" and so addressed by everybody). 

It was a trio of '75 men who thus aroused him from his 
reverie in the library comer. "Bodine of '73," they con- 
tinued almost in concert, "has just blown in here from 
Minneapolis and we're going to give him a dinner up at 
the Claremont. Brace up and come along ! We're none of 
us going to dress for it. The carriage is down at the door 
now" — and they fairly pushed McMillan along and out onto 
the sidewalk. 

At the dinner he was a little moody at first. When he 
asked if any of them recalled who it was that Miss Halsey 
had married, Curtman was quite sure that it was a doctor — 
but nobody recalled anything further. There was some 
chafif over the college girls and the query "Are we so soon 
forgotten?" but even when the little company of diners 

360 



A COLLEGE girl's BELATED IDEAL 

were at their gayest McMillan found himself wishing that 
the morrow would come and speed him to Philadelphia. 

On the train for there next day he recalled a thousand 
and one of the incidents that clustered about his association 
with Suzanne Halsey, in college and afterward. She was 
a bright, thoroughly original girl, thoroughly independent 
in all her ideas and ways, and could do the most unconven- 
tional, almost outrageous things even, without provoking 
criticism or barely comment from the townsfolk or the little 
college v/orld. She was only eighteen years old, but well- 
educated even then, a lover of books, extremely well bred, 
with a vein of humor that never ran out, and a kindly dis- 
position toward everybody in the whole wide world. 

It was Suzanne who flew in the face of college and town 
social traditions by engineering the famous Freshman 
sleigh-ride to Lisbon Falls in the Winter of 1869-70. On 
that occasion eighteen or twenty '73 men took as many 
"Senior girls" on a ride and hop without even letting the 
ladies' men of '70 into the secret, whereat there was wrath 
in upper-classdom and a tornado of gossip in town, until 
it was known that Suzanne had negotiated many of the 
preliminary introductions that had been necessary, and had 
infused enough enthusiasm and courage into the other girls 
to get them to accept invitations from Freshmen. Then 
the affair took on another aspect — it was all right. 

It was Suzanne who, in male attire and mask and with 
dark lantern and hatchet, had "gone the college rounds" one 
Winter midnight with the "Omicrons" and refused to faint 
when the uncovering of a barrel on the top floor of the 
Medical hall had disclosed the head and face of a corpse 
floating in alcohol. 

She never danced — never so much as attended a college 
hop or German — but she always knew exactly what girls 

361 



TALES OP BOWDOIN 

had been invited, and she somehow manag^ed to bring the 
disengaged students and the uninvited girls together before 
the night of the function. 

So secure was she in the college friendships that she 
formed that, when she took a notion that she would like to 
go here or there, or to this or that entertainment, she felt 
perfectly free to ask any one of her young men friends to 
take her or to permit her to act as escort herself. 

One soft Indian Summer day in McMillan's Junior year 
he had gone to the club to dinner and found there under his 
plate a business-looking note, which read : 

"This will be a glorious afternoon for a drive, Fleecie. I'm afraid you 
won't think to ask me— so I'll call around at Sodom in the phaeton at 2 
o'clock for you. If you can't go, come to your window and say so; if you 
can, why, come down and jump in." 

And Suzanne did the thing up right with a pocketful of 
cigars and a box of confectionery — ^but hadn't thought of 
toll to pay on Bay Bridge, and was mortified beyond meas- 
ure to have to borrow it of her companion. 

It was Suzanne who sent flowers and delicacies to sick 
undergraduates whom "the girls" didn't know, simply 
because "there was nobody else to do it." She it was who 
wrote comforting letters to the sisters and mothers of sus- 
pended Sophomores so that they would be "let down easy 
at home." She knew all about the plot to steal the chapel 
bell in the Fall of 1870, for a month before the actual theft, 
and had measured the mouth of nearly every reservoir and 
well-platform in town to see if it was big enough to take 
the bell in — that was to divert suspicion from any of the 
thieves who might be recalled afterward as having measured 
these things. She made the foul flags for the ball grounds, 
embroidered the big "B" on the boat club's colors, and when 
the crews were in training down at Humphreys' Mill used 

362 



A COIvLEGE girl's belated IDEAL 

to drive their "best girls" down there to see them, because 
the oarsmen couldn't get up to town themselves. She could 
skate like a professional, could paddle a canoe safely through 
the Hog Island rapids, and once when an oarless skifif with 
two small French boys in it was about to be carried over 
the upper falls she had waded out with Layton, of '69, into 
the still, shallow waters above the dam and caught the boat 
with the crooked end of an umbrella-stick iust in time. 

There were lots of fellows who used to get devoted to 
her — but never engaged. Brimley, of '69, for a long time 
after he had graduated, used to come back to Brunswick 
often to see her, and as McMillan's own Senior year was 
waning he couldn't quite decide which she cared for the 
more, himself or Brimley. But one May afternoon, just as 
the dandelions were the yellowest and the syringas were 
beginning to bud, she was sitting with him on her back 
porch, and looked so irresistible that McMillan, after due 
deliberation, was just on the point of settling the thing right 
there and then, when she broke in with : 

"Don't look at me in that tone of voice, Fleecie. It 
doesn't become you. And it sort of frightens me, besides. 
Do you know what I was thinking of? No. of course you 
don't, or you wouldn't have looked that way ! Well, it was 
this: If ever my ideal should stumble along and find me, 
and want me to marry him, I should insist, as a pre- 
requisite, that the marriage ceremony should take place on 
the steps of the south wing of the Chapel, on an October 
afternoon when the maples are the most gorgeous and the 
hedges still in leaf. You're pretty near my ideal, Fleecie — 
only just a little 'shy.' But I'm young yet." 

Then he was almost dead-sure that Brimley was "it." 

But nearly four years later, during which time he had 
seen much of the girl at intervals, he met her one morning 

363 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

at a florists' exhibition in New York, and, as they walked 
up town together, he announced his own engagement and 
approaching marriage. She was radiantly effusive in her 
congratulations, assured him, however, that she had long 
foreseen the outcome of what she was pleased to term his 
"little affair," and then informed him serenely that Brimley 
was engaged, to 

"Oh, no ; not to me — for I know you were going to ask 
it — to an army officer's daughter now at the post with her 
father at Fort Pembina. But I've an inspiration, Fleecie. 
'Brim' is in town here now. Suppose you both dine with 
me at the Brunswick tomorrow — a sort of parting feast 
from a bachelor girl to two 'shy' ideals ? Drop in here with 
me, and I'll get 'Brim' on the telephone." 

If the idea of the dinner was an inspiration, the dinner 
itself was a poem. All three were at their very best and 
very brightest, and when the white Burgundy was being 
served McMillan imparted to Brimley his Senior-year 
secret : 

"If you hadn't been in the way," he said, "I know I 
should have lost my heart to Suzanne, here. I came des- 
perately near it." 

"Holy corner-lots ! By all the first liens and second mort- 
gages!" (Brimley was in real estate) "It was you, man, 
that saved me from making myself ridiculous ! If I hadn't 
firmly believed that she was dead in love with you, I should 
have proposed a dozen times !" 

But the pair had finally to admit that it was Suzanne her- 
self who had saved them both from making fools of them- 
selves. 

And as they both escorted her from the carriage and up 
the steps of her brother's home to say good-night and good- 
bye, the older of the two couldn't resist the temptation to 

364 



A COLLEGE GIRL S BELATED IDEAL 

recite somewhat dramatically, with apologies to Thomas 
Bailey Aldrich — 

"And if, perchance, ngaiu we meet 

On this side or that of the equator, 
If then I have not turned teetotaler, 

And have wherewith to pay the waiter. 
To thee I'll drain a modest cup. 

Ignite with thee the mild Havana, 
And we will waft, while liquoring up, 

Forgiveness to the coy Suzanna." 

McMillan had never seen either Suzanne or Brimley after 
that parting — twenty-three years ago. 



Thorneleigh boarded the train twenty miles east of Phila- 
delphia, very much excited. 

"I couldn't wait for you, Pop," he explained. "My 
Suzanne's mother has come — Mrs. Pearston, you know — 
come unexpectedly from 'Frisco. In the very deepest of 
deep mourning. And, but for her white hair, she wouldn't 
look a day older than her daughter. And, oh, my, but she's 
a beauty! She was 'easy,' too — never even protested or 
looked me over, but told Suzanne she rather liked me! 
How's that for a 'mother-in-law-elect'? And in half an 
hour she had told me more about you than you had ever 
told me yourself in all your life !" 



There were four plates laid at Thomeleigh's little Wisse- 
hickon dinner — and somehow McMillan didn't get back to 
his club for a full week. 

Nearly a year later the Union Square stationer protested 
that the wording of these cards was in shockingly bad form, 

365 ■ 



TALES 01? BOWDOIN 

but he had finally to give in, and the engraver nearly had a 
fit when the copy came into his hands: 

It would please Mrs. Thomas Telfair Pearston exceedingly to 
see you on the turf by the south wing of the Chapel, Bowdoin Col- 
lege, at 4 o'clock, on the afternoon of October 20, next; on the 
steps her daughter, Suzanna Halsey Pearston, will be married to 
Mr. Thomeleigh McMillian, of Philadelphia. 

[Over.] 

At the same place, fifteen minutes later, Mr. Thomeleigh Mc- 
Millan would be pleased to have you witness the marriage of 
his father, Mr. Percival Jason McMillan, of New York, and Mrs. 
Thomas Telfair Pearston, of Washington, D. C. 

Rain or shine. 

All four at home, Montclair, N. J., Thursdays in December. 

Mrs. Pearston-McMillan explained to anybody rude 
enough to comment on the cards that the scheme saved 
envelopes, postage and a good bit of fuss and feathers — she 
was under contract to marry that way whenever her ideal 
happened to stumble along. 



ONE NIGHT IN JUNE 

John Ci,air Minot, '96 



ONE NIGHT IN JUNE 

AFTER the crowd had cheered the ends and given the 
final cheers for the college and the Senior class in 
front of the Chapel, most of the fellows started for the Art 
Building steps, just for a song or two; but with a common 
impulse the half-dozen boys of the Senior delegation lin- 
gered behind. 

"We've sung enough for one night," declared Tucker, 
and the hoarseness of his voice, whatever the cause, seemed 
to vindicate the assertion. "Let's stay here and listen. It 
will sound great across the campus." 

"We are out of the active ranks now, anyway, and we 
might as well get used to the sensation," said Macfarlane in 
a tone which indicated that to him, at least, the sensation 
did not bring much joy. 

And, indeed, it was a solemn, rather than the usual joy- 
ous, gathering which the old fraternity hall had witnessed 
that evening. The farewell supper to the Senior delegation 
is apt to be such, for the shadow of the approaching parting 
is heavy upon all hearts and the severing of the ties of active 
membership is not a cheerful process. The Senior whose 
throat does not fill when he gets upon his feet to speak after 
the spread is either a hardened wretch with little feeling, or 
a man of great self-control. And few college boys belong 
to either class. So it was with natures tuned in a minor 
key that these boys watched their brothers of the lower 
w 369 



TAIvES OF BOVVDOIN 

delegations hurry across the campus to the Art Building 
while they remained behind and seated themselves upon the 
Chapel steps. 

At first there was little said. It was a glorious night in 
early June. Through the foliage of the trees the full moon 
made its witching, wavering tracery upon the campus paths. 
From the resonant loggia of the Walker Art Building, sung 
with the spirit and harmony that only undergradute voices 
know, softened in volume by the distance, yet marvellously 
clear on the air of the solemn midnight, came the old songs 
of the college and the fraternity. 

Big Mosher was the first to break the silence. He had 
less sentiment than the other fellows, po'ssibly due to the 
fact that he had played football, four years. ''Say, Tom, 
do you remember the first time we walked up this central 
path to the Chapel? O, but I was verdant then. Still I 
wasn't frightened, while you were morally certain you'd be 
killed in the rush after chapel. It seems only yesterday, 
but in a few weeks more we'll be parading down this same 
path, togged out in caps and gowns, right behind the band, 
the heroes of Commencement week. Can you realize it, 
Tom?" 

Tom Winslow realized it keenly enough without the aid 
of the slap which Mosher gave his shoulder. "It's all right 
being a Commencement hero and following the band, but 
what about next year, when we come back and are dropped 
clear to the tail of the procession ? There's no fun or glory 
in being alumni. I'd like to start my course over again." 

"O, well, we all would, in a way," said Tucker, "and then 
again we wouldn't. It is up to us to get out and hustle, 
and do something so that Bowdoin won't be ashamed of us." 

"You are cut out for a preacher, no doubt," interposed 
Macfarlane, whereat the group laughed softly. "But you 

370 



ONE NIGHT IN JUNE « 

can't make tis feel really reconciled to the prospect of leav- 
ing here. I tell you, boys, now that we are just ready to 
graduate we are beginning to appreciate life here and to 
realize what it means to touch shoulders as chums at this 
old college. I wish somebody would write a book of Bow- 
doin stories so that a youngster about to enter here could 
get some conception of the good things in store for him. 
It would take more than one book, though, to do the subject 
justice.*' 

"What is the matter with Kellogg's Whispering Pine 
stories?" suggested Winslow. 

"Nothing, of course. They are the best ever written in 
their line, but they touch only on life and pranks here sixty 
years ago, and lots of things worth writing about have hap- 
pened around here since then. They are not the oldest 
Bowdoin stories, by the way, for Hawthorne's first novel, 
'Fanshawe,' published the year after he graduated, dealt 
with college life, and the scenes and characters are plainly 
those of early Bowdoin, thinly disguised. One scene is a 
student revel m the old Tontine, interrupted by the Presi^ 
dent. The villain is an ex-pirate who tries to capture the 
President's fair ward. The hero was soulful and stu- 
dious, too good to live long. It is quite a yam, and told in 
splendid English, though the style seems a bit heavy and 
old fashioned now. They say that Hawthorne regarded it 
as a youthful effort and wasn't particularly proud of it, 
though since his death it is included in his works. It isn't 
much read. Even Prof. Harry admitted to me, the other 
day, that he had never seen the book. But what we want 
is a book of Bowdoin stories of recent years and today. 
Think of the unlimited amount of good material that is 
waiting to be used, — and there are scores and scores of 

371 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

literary men, some of them winners, too, among the 
alumni." 

"You are right, Mac," said Tucker, "it ought to be done 
and probably will be, some day. Why, I know enough good 
stories myself, if I could only tell them well, to fill a small 
library, and I don't pretend to know much of the college 
before our day, either. Just think of the days when Phi 
Chi was young, and when the great drill rebellion was on, 
and when there was a girls' boarding school just across 
from the campus, and when they had yagger wars, and 
when they buried 'Anna,' and when — when lots of things 
happened," he concluded lamely, stopping rather on account 
of the great possibilities presented than because he had 
exhausted his list. 

"Speaking of 'Anna/ " broke in Mosher, "do you know 
that when Lieutenant Peary was here at the 'q7 Commence- 
ment, just before starting for the Pole, he and a dozen of 
his classmates took the '"jj 'Anna' gravestone from the 
terrace at South Appleton where it had been transplanted, 
and dragged it out into its first resting place in the pines 
beyond the Observatory ? They had a lot of fun over it." 

"I should think the most interesting stories could be made 
out of the old days," observed Winslow. "The planting of 
Thomdike oak, for instance. You know that George 
Thorndike, who buried the little acorn over beside the steps 
of Massachusetts, was in the first class and he died in 
Russia, I believe, the first graduate of Bowdoin to die. If 
that old oak could talk, as Tennyson's did. what tales it 
could tell us, tonight. In those first years the whole college 
was housed in Massachusetts, and Prexie McKeen used to 
call the boys to prayers 'by rapping with his cane on the 
stairs. The first Commencement was held in September, 
and I've read that it was postponed one day on account of 

17^ 



ONE NIGHT IN JUNE 

the rain. Commencement was always held late in the Sum- 
mer, and in the early times it was more or less like a circus, 
I judge, and erverybody, drove in from miles around and 
made a day of it with peanuts and red lemonade, or their 
equivalents." 

"It is something of a circus now," remarked Mosher, 
thinking of three girls, in Bath, Lewiston and Portland 
respectively, all of whom were eagerly counting on being 
his guests when the great occasion came. 

But Winslow refused to heed the interruption and went 
on : "There ought to be a ghost story or two, or at least 
some wild larks, in the old tumble-down, deserted tavern 
that stood for years on the corner of the campus, near the 
church. But I suppose the real Bowdoin ghost stories could 
be found in some of the grave-robbing episodes that were 
more or less frequent when the Medics had harder work to 
get subjects for dissection than now. There has also been 
a suicide or two, if a grewsome theme were wanted. There 
might be material for a good yarn in the burning of Maine 
Hall, 'way back in the 'twenties and again one night in the 
'thirties, or the burning of the President's house after they 
had had a big row over his resignation. And think of the 
chance for a story in that meeting on the coast of Africa 
between Commodore Bridge and his former college mate, 
Russwurm, I think his name was, — the only negro who 
ever graduated from Bowdoin, and who had become a dig- 
nitary^ of importance, possibly a king, among his own people. 
And there was the outbreak of the war — " 

"O, that's all ancient history," interrupted Macfarlane. 
"The best Bowdoin story would be one of today with the 
hero winning the Worcester meet or a big football game, 
and his girl in the grandstand holding her breath all the 
while. There is no story to wake up a college man like one 

373 



TALES OF BOWDOIN 

in which a fellow wins glory for the old college by lining- 
out home runs, or bucking the line for a touchdown or 
breaking the tape at the finish. That sort of thing, with a 
vivid picture of the big crowd going wild as the plucky hero 
snatches victory from defeat, makes the Old Grad's blood 
tingle as nothing else will. And I guess the outside public 
likes it as well as any kind of a college yarn, though it gives 
the impression that college life is about all athletics." 

"If anybody writes about Bowdoin athletics," said Wins- 
low, "they mustn't forget the days of rowing. There are 
some great stories told of those victories on the water, 
between the time when Tom Reed rowed on the Andros- 
coggin and the last class race when '96 beat '97 in the Spring 
of '94. Some of the intercollegiate victories when Bowdoin 
beat even Harvard and Yale resulted in celebrations here 
that make present jollifications seem pretty tame. It is a 
pity that boating had to be given up, and the old boathouse 
and the shells go to wreck and ruin." 

"Well, football and field sports have more than taken 
rowing's place in college life," said Macfarlane. After a 
pause he continued, "Next to athletic stories, I think the 
story of undergraduate pranks and deviltry is most appre- 
ciated by college men, though this kind also is likely to give 
a false impression to those outside the pale. Now, for 
instance, there is a splendid chance for a storiette in that 
episode of a recent Ivy hop when a Junior brought his girl 
over to the Chapel here at intermission, to show her the 
picture of an angel that he declared was the exact image of 
herself. Some of the boys were onto it, and — well, I'll tell 
you the whole story sometime, if you have never heard of it. 
The painting is that of the Baptism, third one on the left; 
and just notice that dark-haired angel in the lower part, the 
next time any of you forget yourselves and go to chapel. 

374 



ONE NIGHT IN JUNE 

Or, if a prank story is wanted, it mig-ht deal with that affair 
when a few '96 fellows locked up two Fseshmen in the tomb 
down in the cemetery, after taking;- them down to the river. 
It made a lot of trouble, but probably the hazing sounded 
worse than it was. Then I've heard an alumnus up home 
tell how '80 lost the Y. M. C. A. presidency by winning the 
annual Fall held day. You see, they had only one man 
really eligible to that office and when thev celebrated their 
field day victory, somebody accidentallv doctored the new 
cider which they used, and they over-celebrated. But the 
man who thereby lost the Y. M. C. A. presidency was game, 
and declared he had rather have his fun with his class than 
hold any college honor. And I've heard about a fellow in 
'75 who fell off the roof of Maine Hall — " 

"Now wouldn't that jar you !" murmured Mosher. 

"O, it's no joke," continued Macfarlane. "His name was 
Hewes. He is now a lawyer over in Washington county, 
and a good one. Workmen were repairing the roof and he 
was up there looking around when he slipped and rolled 
over the edge to the ground. Never fazed him, and he 
was as good as new in an hour or two. Nobody has tried 
to duplicate the feat, though. I met him once, on a Glee 
Club trip." 

"Was that the trip when you were jugged, over in 
Bangor?" inquired Tucker. 

"That wasn't Bangor ; it was in Bath that I joined Bow- 
doin's immortal Convict Club to which so many good men 
have belonged. It wasn't my fault ; the cop was fresh, you 
know." 

"O, that's always the way of it," assented Tucker. 

"But, to continue," said Macfarlane, "there would be a 
chance for a great story on the days when it was fashion- 
able for fellows in different colleges to send bell tongues, 

375 



TAIvES OF BOWDOIN 

chapel Bibles and such things, back and forth. Once the 
Colby Sophomores sent a bust of one of their Presidents, 
Chaplin or Champlin, down here to Bowdoin. Our Prex 
didn't see the joke, and accepted the gift in a nice little note 
of thanks to the Colby Prex. Then the Colby Prex didn't 
have the heart to tell him that it was only a piece of Sopho- 
moric skylarking, and so the bust remained here and it is 
here now ; over in Memorial, I think," 

"It strikes me that 3'ou are wandering into ancient his^ 
tory, yourself," said Winslow. "What do you think of this 
idea of a book of Bowdoin yarns?" he added, turning to 
Larry Howard who had been lying back against the Chapel 
doors, listening to the distant singing and taking no part in 
the chatter of his companions. Perhaps, under the influence 
of the moonlight which affects the tides of the heart as it 
does those of the sea, his mind had wandered back to that 
memorable day during the previous Summer's vacation, 
when he had induced a fond and trusting mamma to allow 
her daughter to accompany him from a not far away shore 
resort for a day's inspection of the campus, deserted but 
never so attractive as when in the luxuriance of its mid- 
summer foliage. Perhaps he was thinking, — who could 
blame him ? — of that tour of the Art Building when, in the 
seclusion of the Assyrian Sculpture room, the bold Junior 
had poured into the ears of the maiden, pink ears as willing 
as they were dainty, a story, not a college story, but one 
older far than the inscriptions on the unheeded tablets 
around them. Perhaps — . 

"What do I think of it ?" he repeated, slowly coming out 
of his trance, "Why, I think it is a great idea that some- 
body ought to act upon. But if you fellows talked all night 
you couldn't mention one in a thousand of the things in 
Bowdoin's history around which good stories of the past or 

376 



ONE NIGHT IN JUNE 

present could be written. There is simply no limit to them, 
no college is so rich in opportunity for the story-teller, and 
the man who tries to get up the book will -probably find 
himself buried under an avalanche of desirable contribu- 
tions. "But 1 also think," he added, getting up with a 
yawn, "that it is time we all turned in. This is their last 
song." 

True enough, the boys on the Art Building steps, having 
sung themselves out, were giving as their last selection 
before coming over to the End, that favorite by Harry 
Pierce of '96, he who could make the claim, and justify it, 
of kinship with Bowdoin's greatest singer: 

BOWDOIN BE ATA. 

When bright skies •were o'er us, 

And life lay before us, 
'Neath Bowdoin's pines we gathered far and near, 

So filling our glasses, 

And pledging all classes. 
We drink a health to Alma Mater dear. 

Chorus. 
Clink, clink, drink, drink, drink! 

Smash the glass in splinters when you're done. 
Bowdoin Beata, O dear Alma Mater, 

There is no fairer mother 'neath the sun. 

When manhood has found us. 

And children surround us, 
Our college days and friends we'll still recall. 

With heaitfelt emotion. 

And deathless devotion, 
We'll send our sons to Bowdoin in the fall. 

Chorus. 

When age, gray and hoary. 

Has filled out our story. 
The tender mem'ries swelling back again, 

Loyal forever. 

Until death shall sever, 
One glass to AlmM Mater we shall drain. 

Chorus. 

X 377 



TAI,ES OF BOWDOIN 

So, comrades together, 

In fair and foul weather, 
Your glasaes fill to Bowdoin and herjfame. 

For whei'e e'er we wander. 

Stronger and fonder, 
The tend'rest ties shall cling about her name. 

Chorus. 



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